


Sharing

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Aggression, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Hand Jobs, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:45:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Giriko does laugh at that. 'So it was Death Scythe’s suggestion. Like Stein would come up with this on his own.'" Giriko and Justin visit Stein and Spirit for experimentation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Comparison

Justin is doing his best impression of someone who is ultimately calm and not at all nervous about where he and Giriko are currently going. If the chainsaw wasn’t paying attention he might buy it, too. But Giriko has been living with the priest for months, now, and after the first few times he saw Justin break down he realized that the kid’s imitation of adulthood is just a facade, and a pretty thin one at that. Right now his shoulders and back and his hands are relaxed but he’s avoiding Giriko’s eyes, and his face is so entirely blank it  _has_  to be deliberate. Giriko is trailing behind him, a few steps behind and just over the priest’s shoulder so Justin can’t see him without turning and he can watch the tension collect along the blond’s shoulders.

“We don’t have to go,” he points out reasonably, and if his voice is tight with amusement he can’t be bothered to care. It  _is_  kind of funny. “It was  _your_  idea, with your stupid crush on Death Scythe.”

“It was  _not_  my idea,” Justin snaps back, and all of his controlled expression has no effect on the high panic in his voice. “It was  _Stein’s_  idea. I just agreed. Like you did.”

Giriko does laugh at that. “So it was Death Scythe’s suggestion. Like Stein would come up with this on his own.” He shakes his head dramatically even though Justin can’t see him. “I always knew he’d be into some kinky shit.”

“Well I guess you’re about to find out exactly what he’s into.” They are almost at the lab, and now Justin’s hands are starting to shake. Giriko watches the movement while keeping his own hands firmly in his pockets. It’ll never do for the priest to realize that he’s got adrenaline pouring through his veins too, not when he has such a glorious opportunity to lord it over the other weapon.

Justin doesn’t speak again as they cross the last few feet, and he steps forward to knock on the door with no visible hesitation in his actions. Giriko doesn’t have time to control his expression before the door comes open, as if the scythe on the other side has been waiting on their arrival.

“Hey!” Death Scythe is dressed far more casually than usual, his typical dress coat and tie entirely absent and the top two buttons of his shirt undone to show just the edge of collarbone. He looks slightly frantic and Giriko abruptly revises his estimation of the other man’s familiarity with the situation. “Come inside.” He steps aside and Justin comes in, followed after a breath by Giriko himself. The other death weapon shuts the door and starts to head down the hallway. “You can leave your shoes there. Drinks?”

“I’m not --” Justin starts, but Giriko cuts in over the priest’s probable refusal. “ _Fuck_  yes.” He kicks his shoes off and follows Death Scythe down the hall with alacrity, leaving Justin to catch up in spite of the priest’s huff of exasperation as he goes.

“Don’t give the kid booze,” Giriko tells Death Scythe as they go. “He’ll pass out and that’ll be no fun.”

Death Scythe laughs and the sound is so sharp that even with no real familiarity with the other man Giriko can recognize nerves. God, he really has no filter at  _all_. “Noted. Stein!” They come around the corner to the kitchen, where Stein is pulling a bottle out of a cabinet.

“Senpai.” Stein sounds  _perfectly_  calm, in opposition to his weapon, and when he turns around to face them Giriko can’t see any signs of stress in his face. Either he’s extraordinarily good at controlling his features or he really  _is_  entirely unfazed at the idea of a foursome.

He is just as capable as Giriko of reading Death Scythe, though. The meister takes one look at the redhead’s face and extends the bottle. “You look like you’re about to be killed, senpai.”

Death Scythe doesn’t respond, just takes the bottle and twists the cap off to swallow a shot straight from the bottle. Giriko’s eyebrows go up and Stein’s gaze slides to him. The meister’s mouth quirks in amusement but he doesn’t say anything, just turns back to the cabinet to find a shot glass and offer it to the chainsaw.

The gesture speaks more eloquently than Giriko wishes it did, but he snatches the glass anyway and turns back to snap at Death Scythe. “Gimme that.”

Justin comes in as Giriko is downing the first of what the chainsaw expects to be several shots; he looks as half-dressed as Death Scythe in just jeans and a t-shirt, and Giriko has to resist the urge to shove him right back out the door because  _he’s_  the only one who gets to see Justin this casual. He splashes another shot of booze -- what is this anyway, whiskey? -- into the glass and half over his hand and tosses it back again before Death Scythe takes the bottle back.

“You are both ridiculous,” Stein observes. He’s still smiling to himself, his expression unfazed even when Giriko glares at him around the burn in his throat, but when Giriko looks at Justin the blond is smiling back like he’s taking some measure of comfort from the meister’s calm, and the chainsaw can’t really regret that. “I didn’t really expect to be starting with a round of shots for everyone.”

“ _Not_  for Justin,” Giriko reiterates. “Thought if you  _want_  to start with something other than alcohol, he’s a good candidate.”

Justin makes a low wail of protest, and when Giriko glances at him the priest is going bright red in what looks more like anger than embarrassment. “ _What_? Why are you volunteering me?”

Giriko reaches out to grab Justin wrist and pull him in under his arm. The priest offers token resistance but not enough to actually prevent the chainsaw from tugging him in close. “Because,” Giriko purrs into the priest’s ear. He can feel the burn of the whiskey over his tongue, if not in his bloodstream yet. “We might be able to get you off two or three times, if we start off with you. Seriously,” he says more loudly for the room’s benefit as Justin hisses and shoves his arm free. “I’m envious of your fucking teenage hormones.” The priest is blushing  _harder_ , now, flaming red all over his face, and his eyes are snapping fury in Giriko’s direction, but Death Scythe is laughing and Stein is grinning on the other side of the counter.

“Well that seems as good an argument as any,” Stein says, and then he starts coming around the edge towards Justin. The priest goes still and his eyes go wide, and Giriko is on his feet faster than he can think to angle himself between the meister and Justin.

“Hey, what? Just like that?”

Stein slows but doesn’t stop his approach. Giriko becomes painfully aware that the meister’s coat is gone, and while it’s not as alarming as Justin or Death Scythe’s clothes it’s taking on a whole new significance all at once. “It’s either that or let you and senpai drink yourselves under the table.  _Someone_  has to be first.”

Giriko steps forward, seething at the attack on his tolerance. “ _Hey_ , a couple shots ain’t gonna do me in.”

“Glad you agree,” Stein says, and the meister reaches out to push the chainsaw aside before Giriko can think to resist. “Any protests, Justin?”

Giriko expects some sort of vocalization from the priest, a whimper or a more coherent refusal, but when nothing is forthcoming he looks back. Justin is staring at Stein -- Giriko hadn’t realized that the meister is taller than the kid until now, with them close enough to touch -- and his blush is entirely gone, along with any sort of self-control he can exert over his face. Giriko doesn’t know what is on Stein’s face, but Justin’s mouth is barely open and he looks like he’ll never blink again, and Giriko’s never seen the priest look like that except when the chainsaw manages to suggest something particularly inventive.

“Justin?” he asks, and Justin glances at him and shuts his mouth, though the glaze in his eyes remains. Stein laughs and reaches out to touch the very tips of his fingers to Justin’s waist, and when he speaks he does so without turning.

“Are you going to be jealous  _now_ , Giriko?” The taunt is clear in his voice and Giriko bristles and steps in.

“ _No_ ,” he snaps, and Stein turns his head to raise an eyebrow at him. “I’m  _not_ ,” he insists, crossing his arms over his chest. Stein grins at him.

“Good.” The meister turns back to Justin, and for a minute Giriko thinks he’s going to kiss the priest. Then Stein sighs, and comes down to his knees, and Giriko is a  _lot_  more interested in this idea.  _Now_  Justin responds, squeaks and tries to step back, but Stein’s got his hands around Justin’s hips, and Giriko steps forward to offer what assistance he can.

“Come on, Justin,” he laughs, pivoting around behind the priest so he can press up against Justin’s back and watch Stein from the vantage of the blond’s shoulder. “I thought you  _liked_  blowjobs.”

Justin makes a weird sound that’s kind of a laugh and kind of a whine of panic, and Giriko sets his hands just above Stein’s without quite touching. “He’s not going to be able to stay standing,” he says conversationally. Stein isn’t moving, just looking up at Justin’s face, and when Giriko speaks his eyes flick to the chainsaw’s without any movement of his head. “Seriously, I might need to hold him down.”

Justin turns to glare at Giriko, but he’s breathing hard and Stein hasn’t even  _done_  anything yet, and Stein laughs and lets his hold go. “By all means, then.”

Giriko moves a hand to Justin’s shoulder, and glare notwithstanding when he pushes Justin folds to his knees, and after a moment the priest shifts so his legs are spread around Stein. He’s blushing again but not protesting, and when Stein reaches to pull the priest’s t-shirt off Justin lifts his arms without a word. The meister doesn’t move in for more, just looks at Justin and smiles again, and then he looks down to the front of the priest’s jeans and starts unfastening the front.

“Hey, what about me?” Death Scythe protests. He comes over to stretch out across the floor next to Stein, bottle abandoned back on the counter behind him. He looks significantly more relaxed than he did, curved comfortable onto the floor, and Giriko wonders briefly if he had been preemptively drinking before they arrived.

Stein glances at him and smiles. The expression is entirely different than the amused pleasure he’s been turning on Justin; this is softer, settling into his eyes like a familiar warmth, so Giriko feels like he’s intruding even though Stein’s hands are pulling Justin’s pants open. “Would you rather?” Stein asks. His fingers slide carefully over the line of Justin’s stomach and the priest sucks in air.

The scythe looks at Justin, half-angled back against Giriko behind him, glances briefly at the chainsaw, then sweeps his gaze slow over Stein’s face. His eyes linger so long on the meister’s mouth that Giriko can see it from where he is, and then his mouth curves into a smile that has all the mischief that Stein’s has lost.

“Hm. No, I think I want to watch this round.” He reaches out and drags his hand down Stein’s back; the meister arches like a cat and shuts his eyes in appreciation. “Besides I think you give better blowjobs than I do.”

Stein laughs. “We have our first opportunity for a comparative study here.” Justin whimpers, but Giriko’s pretty sure he’s the only one who hears it before Stein is dipping his fingers down the line of Justin’s stomach to close his hand around the priest’s cock and draw it free of his clothes. The resulting gasp is definitely audible, but Stein just smiles without looking up and dips his head down. The meister’s hair is too long for Giriko to see exactly what he is doing, but he can tell when lips hit cock from the way Justin jerks and gasps.

Stein pulls back and looks up, first at Justin and then to Giriko. “You weren’t kidding.”

Giriko laughs. “You haven’t seen  _anything_  yet.” He slides backward; Justin reaches up to close his fingers painfully tight around the chainsaw’s wrist as he moves away, but the priest drops back to the floor when Giriko pushes him and leans in to press his hands down onto the blond’s shoulders. “Have at it, I’ll keep him down.”

Justin is breathing too fast and his eyes are wide and blue, almost panicked, and he’s looking up at Giriko’s face instead of down at Stein. The chainsaw watches Stein as the meister licks his lips and comes back down, but he looks down in time to see Justin’s mouth come open in a groan and eyes shut in a flinch at the sensation. The priest tries to arch up off the ground but Giriko  _knows_  by now what Justin does when he’s getting a blowjob, and the priest is way too fucking skinny to overcome Giriko’s full weight like he’s exerting at the moment.

It’s actually easier to read Stein’s actions by watching Justin’s face than by trying to see past the meister’s hair; not that Giriko is getting any details, really, but Justin is moaning and his face is flickering through pain and pleasure and want so fast that Giriko’s imagination is getting  _really_  inventive regarding what exactly Stein is doing. He glances up, once, to catch Death Scythe watching Stein with his lips parted and a flush high across his cheekbones, but then Justin whines again and he looks back down and the priest is  _staring_  at him, his eyes wide and desperate, and he can’t make himself look away. Does Justin look like this when  _Giriko_ ’s blowing him too? The chainsaw can feel every time the priest tries to move, either in towards Stein or arching back in reaction to whatever it is the meister is doing, and the motions are violent enough that he actually  _needs_  all his additional weight to keep Justin down and flat on the floor. His cock is painfully hard, has been since Justin’s first reaction, but there will be time for that, and from the look of it he won’t need to wait much longer.

He’s right. Justin takes a deep breath, and his fingers clutch hard against Giriko’s wrist, and he rocks up so hard he actually gets an inch off the ground in spite of Stein and Giriko’s combined efforts before he moans, high and wordless, and Giriko can see the ripple of orgasm pass through the priest’s entire body before he drops back to the floor and gasps in relief.

Stein comes up grinning again, mouth damp with saliva and come, and Death Scythe whines and leans in to kiss him before the meister has a chance to speak. When they separate Stein is watching Death Scythe, and the weapon hums and smiles before he opens his eyes.

“Mm. You taste  _good_ , Justin.”

Giriko chokes and Justin laughs weakly from the floor. Stein grins and reaches up to pull his glasses off; without them his eyes look greener and brighter and his face looks younger and softer. “Well. Shall we move to a more comfortable location?”

“I dunno,” Giriko drawls, but he gets to his feet anyway. After a moment he offers Justin a hand, which after another moment the priest accepts. “I kinda like the floor theme.”

“Luckily we have floors throughout the lab.” Stein gets to his feet. “Had them put in special for just this sort of occasion.”

Giriko flips him off without any real fire and the meister laughs and steps past the chainsaw and priest. Justin still looks a little dazed, but he runs a hand through his hair and follows Stein around the corner; Giriko stays, waiting until Death Scythe has gotten to his feet and stretched deliberately slowly before the scythe moves to trail the other two. Giriko falls into step behind him and waits to speak until they have both cleared the corner in pursuit of Justin and Stein.

“Not a bad idea of yours, pretty boy,” he starts. “Though you were awfully nervous. Liquid courage doing what it’s supposed to?”

Death Scythe scoffs and glances back over his shoulder. “Hey, you were right there with me. You don’t have a lot of room to criticize.”

“I’m holding mine a lot better than you are yours.” Giriko illustrates his point by coming in close enough to stick his foot in front of Death Scythe’s; the other man’s toes catch on Giriko’s ankle and he stumbles forward, nearly falling before he can catch his weight. Giriko grins, partially from dark amusement and partially from the satisfaction of literally throwing Death Scythe off balance.

The redhead regains his footing and half-turns to face Giriko down. “What the hell is your problem, Giriko? You shouldn’t have come if you weren’t interested.”

Giriko shoves past Death Scythe, deliberately catching his shoulder on the other man’s. “Who said I wasn’t interested? Just because _you’re_  too vanilla to play rough doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t experimental. Is that why Stein invited us over?”

He’s trying to needle a reaction, but instead of an explosion he gets a laugh, and tenses in anticipation of the verbal blow before it comes.

“You  _are_ jealous _._ ” Death Scythe’s voice comes from behind him as Giriko rounds the corner to what appears to be a bedroom. Stein’s got his shirt off but he and Justin are on opposite sides of the room, the priest leaning against the bed while Stein is in front of a desk where he’s laid his glasses. Both of them look up at the scythe’s words with matching expressions of mild interest as Death Scythe goes on. “Are you worried your toy is going to find someone he likes better than you?”

Giriko spins, catching Death Scythe as he approaches and shoving him back into the wall. “Justin’s not  _my_  toy or  _anyone’s_.”

Death Scythe’s eyes come open in a gratifyingly frightened reaction as the chainsaw pins him against the wall, but then they go hot with anger --  _Justin’s_  eyes never look like that, for all that the color is similar, the priest is always cold when he’s angry -- and he grabs a fistful of the front of Giriko’s shirt and steps in close.

“Maybe you shouldn’t treat him like he’s an object, then,” the redhead spits.

Giriko punches him. He doesn’t aim for the scythe’s nose -- he could break it, if he wanted, but the minimal self-preservation in him is aware that Stein is just behind him and he thinks the face might be off-limits. Instead he hits just below the scythe’s collarbone, so Death Scythe hisses in pain and stumbles backward. Stein makes a wordless noise of concern over Giriko’s shoulder, and Justin is on his feet all at once, but Death Scythe is closer and reacts first, in spite of his movement backward. He  _does_  go for the face, swings at Giriko’s eye, and if not for the chainsaw dodging under the blow he would have gotten a black eye for his trouble.

Then Stein’s there, interposing an arm between the two weapons and shoving Death Scythe back hard enough that his hold on Giriko’s shirt comes loose. Giriko moves to follow, incoherent with the adrenaline of a fight, but a hold on his arm brings him up short and when he looks Justin’s got his fingers locked down around the chainsaw’s wrist in one of the priest’s inexplicably unbreakable holds.

“ _Don’t_ , senpai,” Stein is saying with real warning in his voice, and Justin is echoing him: “Stop it.” But with his back to the other two Justin’s eyes are only visible to Giriko, and they are  _full_  of amusement, and his mouth is tight with repressed laughter.

“You think this is  _funny_?” Giriko snaps, but now he’s grinning too before his brain is willing to admit to the humor of the situation. Stein looks back, and when he sees Giriko’s expression some of the deadly tension in his shoulders unwinds.

“Can’t leave you two alone for one minute,” he sighs, but he lets Death Scythe go, and the redhead huffs and rubs his shoulder but doesn’t come back after Giriko.

“Let me go,” Giriko says, and after a minute Justin does, though the move is cautiously slow. The chainsaw crosses the distance between himself and Death Scythe, slow so Stein won’t attack him, but he doesn’t stop until he’s close enough that he can hear the scythe breathing.

“I hate you,” he offers clearly and carefully. Death Scythe’s face contorts in confusion -- how can Stein stand it, having a weapon whose every emotion is so clear? -- and his eyes go wide as Giriko reaches for the front of his black slacks.

“Wait,” he says, but he doesn’t actually move to stop him. “What are you doing?”

Giriko raises an eyebrow. “I could spell it out for you, if you have  _that_  much inexperience.”

Death Scythe huffs and tosses his hair back but he doesn’t move to hit him. “You  _just_  said you hated me. If your memory is  _that_  bad in your old age.”

Giriko bares his teeth. “Sorry, I don’t think that has any bearing on this, do you?” He demonstrates by pressing the palm of his hand into the scythe’s undeniable erection. The redhead hisses and half-pulls back, but then he glances down to the front of Giriko’s pants and goes still. Stein’s still just behind him, watching the two of them like they might devolve into a fistfight at any second -- they might, too -- and Giriko can sense Justin, utterly silent just over his shoulder.

Then Death Scythe smiles, face collapsing into childlike happiness, and reaches for Giriko’s waistband. The chainsaw lets him -- he has the advantage anyway, and gets the scythe’s pants entirely open and his hand working against his cock before the other weapon has even gotten his fly down. As it turns out Death Scythe is  _just_  as distractible as Giriko suspects him to be, and for a minute the chainsaw thinks he might be able to actually get him off before the other weapon gets Giriko’s cock out at all.

He proves to have more stamina than Giriko gave him credit for, though, or more determination maybe, and when he gets his fingers around the chainsaw’s cock Giriko grunts like he’s been punched. Justin’s got surprisingly strong hands for how delicate his fingers are, and Giriko’s own calluses are an advantage of friction in spite of the inherent familiarity of his own fingers, but Death Scythe has all the experience that Justin yet lacks. Generally Giriko doesn’t even go in for hand jobs -- it’s easy enough to get Justin laid out on the bed or over a table or against a wall for fucking, and the priest likes having cock down his throat enough that that’s the second option. But Death Scythe has a  _knack_ , some way of shifting his fingers almost separately of each other, and he’s pressing his thumb against the head of the chainsaw’s cock while still moving his hand and if he were going  _faster_  Giriko would be done for.

Luckily Death Scythe is being gentle, like he’s still warming up, so Giriko grits his teeth and tries to ignore the slow build of pleasure against his spine and pulls hard and fast until the scythe whimpers and rocks forward.

“You’re going too  _fast_ ,” he protests, although he sounds breathy with pleasure in spite of his complaint.

Giriko laughs and keeps going. “You’re going too damn slow, pretty boy.”

Death Scythe hisses, and Stein laughs, and the sound makes Giriko think of Justin and turn to look for him. The priest’s not over his shoulder anymore; he’s curled on the bed, legs apart and one knee up under his chin while the other leg dangles off the edge of the bed. His eyes are wide and entirely focused on Death Scythe and Giriko’s hands, and he’s got his thumbnail between his teeth and is biting down without any focus in his eyes, and even from here Giriko can see him getting hard again.

“For  _fuck’s_  sake,” Giriko spits, and lets go of Death Scythe’s cock before anyone has a chance to react. “Go.” Death Scythe lets his hold go and stares at Giriko like he doesn’t speak English anymore. “Fucking hell, pretty boy.” Giriko grabs his shoulder to spin him around towards the bed. “Someone should be fucking the kid and I get to do it every day. Don’t you want a turn?”

Death Scythe looks over at Justin and laughs, and Stein looks at Giriko over the scythe’s shoulder and grins. The redhead goes without further protest, and the meister steps into the space he left behind.

“Thoughtful of you,” he says calmly, reaching down to replace Death Scythe’s previous hold with his own. “You’re not opposed to getting attention yourself, are you?”

Giriko grunts in the negative. “No. ‘Sjust better if everyone’s playing.”

“Sure.” Stein reaches up to touch Giriko’s shoulder, so lightly that the chainsaw is startled when he follows it up with a hard shove backward. Giriko stumbles back until he hits the wall and is facing the bed where Death Scythe, having divested himself of his own clothes, is pulling Justin’s pants free. Justin glances at Giriko over Stein’s shoulder, and then the meister is dropping to his knees and Giriko’s view of the bed is unobstructed.

“I assume  _you_ don’t need restraints?” Stein asks casually, sliding his hand too slowly over Giriko’s cock. The chainsaw’s pretty sure that delay is on purpose, this time.

He shakes his head. “Not unless you’re a whole lot better than anyone else that’s ever sucked me off before.”

Stein laughs very low but Giriko doesn’t look down at him; Justin is still watching him, and Death Scythe is pulling the priest around onto his hands and knees on the bed, and the chainsaw’s a little worried he’ll miss something if he looks away. Then heat and damp close around his cock, and he groans, and Justin bites down hard on his lip even before Death Scythe pushes a finger inside him.

It’s better to watch Justin than Stein, Giriko shortly determines; Stein looks perfectly calm, careful like he’s solving a problem, and while that has a certain intrigue Justin’s mouth keep coming open every time Death Scythe moves behind him, and his eyes keep closed involuntarily, and there’s a flush rising on his cheeks until finally Giriko calls, “Fucking hell, just  _fuck_  him already!”

Stein laughs back in his throat without pulling away, and Justin goes bright red but doesn’t protest. Death Scythe looks up at Giriko, looks down at Stein, and blushes himself before  _finally_  coming in behind Justin to line himself up.

Justin moans when Death Scythe pushes forward and in; he drops his head so Giriko can’t see his face for a minute and his hands form into fists in the sheets. Death Scythe takes a pained inhale for his part, going still for a moment before pulling back out and thrusting forward again.

Giriko doesn’t know if Stein is deliberately listening to the shift of the sheets or the sound of skin on skin, or maybe he’s judging based on Justin’s gasped exhales or Spirit’s groans. Maybe he’s just paying attention to everyone’s Soul Wavelength, or maybe it’s entirely a fluke. At any rate, as Death Scythe hits his rhythm Stein hits exactly the same one, so his mouth comes around Giriko as Death Scythe pushes forward into Justin. The priest lifts his head again after a moment to meet Giriko’s eyes, and the chainsaw is pretty sure it’s the darkness in the priest’s eyes that ends up tightening the pleasure along his spine into a knot and bursting over him like a shockwave.

Justin is still staring at him when he comes back into himself, and Stein is just pulling away and tracing his tongue over his lips.

“Not  _that_  much better, then?” Stein says, and it takes Giriko a minute to place the tail end of their conversation. Once he does he grins and shakes his head.

“Don’t take it personally, though.” Stein gets to his feet as Giriko straightens from his lean against the wall. “The kid’s got the best natural technique I’ve ever seen.”

Stein laughs, and turns to come around the edge of the bed, and Giriko steps in to lean over the end and smile down at Justin. “Also, no offense, but he’s a hell of a lot prettier than you are.”

“Mm,” Stein hums, coming up to kneel behind Death Scythe on the bed. He tips his head in to brush his mouth over the scythe’s neck, and the redhead shuts his eyes and shivers at the contact. “None taken. I’m not really angling for that particular trait myself.” He slides his hands up over Death Scythe’s chest -- Giriko can see the way the weapon leans back into the touch, the way tension pulls in ripples over the redhead’s chest and shoulders -- and brushes his mouth against Death Scythe’s ear. Giriko’s  _pretty_  sure the meister doesn’t actually say anything, but the weapon’s expression clears into blank satisfaction, and then he rocks forward into Justin and comes, like he’s obeying an order from the meister.

Justin doesn’t move as Death Scythe pulls back; Giriko is watching the priest’s face instead of the two moving behind him, but Justin is giving every impression of being entirely content to stay where he is until the end of time. His mouth is open and he’s breathing hard, like he can’t get enough air through just his nose, and he is  _properly_  hard now, apparently entirely recovered from his initial interlude.

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Giriko says conversationally. Justin glances up at him and half-laughs.

“So were  _you_.”

Giriko grins. “True. Though I have to say watching you get fucked is at least as good as getting sucked off myself.” He looks up to where Stein is settling his hands on Justin’s hips. Justin groans as the meister slides into him; Giriko waits until he’s sure the priest can hear him before he goes on. “You look  _damn_  good all breathless like this. Want to get off again yourself?”

Justin glares at him, but the effect is somewhat undermined by the strain in his breathing, and Giriko grins like he’s had proper agreement. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He closes his hand into the blond’s hair and pulls him up until he’s almost upright in spite of Stein just behind him; Justin hisses at the pull but comes up anyway, reaching up to hold onto Giriko’s wrist to take some of the weight. He blinks at the chainsaw, and keeps trying to glare, and Giriko laughs again and leans in close to exhale against the blond’s mouth.

“You know, there’s enough of us,” he says as calmly as if they’re in the middle of a conversation. “We could just take turns fucking your ass, maybe blowing you every so often.” Justin’s eyelids flutter and Giriko pulls harder against his hair to tip his head back. “Fuck me, you  _do_  like that idea. You are such a kinky freak.”

Death Scythe comes back around from where he has been behind Stein and Justin and reaches out to curl his fingers around Justin’s cock. Justin jerks, and moans, and shuts his eyes at the contact. Giriko looks down for a minute to watch the scythe’s careful fingers against the priest’s cock and admits, very quietly even in his own head, that the two Death Weapons are  _damn_  pretty together. Then Stein thrusts up again, and Justin rocks up and gasps, and Giriko dispenses with  _looking_  and leans in to bite at the edge of the blond’s neck.

There are a lot of sources of distraction at the moment; the sound of Justin  _keening_  against Giriko’s hair, the taste of the priest’s skin on the chainsaw’s tongue, the sound of Stein and Death Scythe both shifting against the blond. Giriko still finds enough attention to note that Death Scythe is still using his slow and steady technique on Justin and lacks any sort of motivation to tell the redhead that the priest likes it  _harder_  and  _faster_. Justin is clinging to his wrist and panting with desperation and Giriko grins into the priest’s shoulder and doesn’t speak.

Justin is almost crying by the time Stein gasps in hard and rocks up once more. Giriko looks up to see the meister’s cool expression dissolve into pleasure for a minute; when Stein exhales Death Scythe does too, like his breathing is perpetually in sync with the meister’s.

It’s not until Justin whimpers and wiggles that Giriko realizes Death Scythe has stopped moving. The chainsaw laughs and pulls back as Stein shifts away from Justin.

“Come on,” he says to Justin, to Death Scythe, to Stein. “He’s earned a reward, don’t you think?”

Stein touches his shoulder as he trades positions with Giriko; Death Scythe doesn’t speak, but he drops down onto his stomach across the bed, and from the way Justin sucks in a breath his mouth has got to be close to the priest’s cock. Giriko grabs Justin’s wrists and twists his arms back to cross at the small of his back, locks one hand around both of Justin’s wrists at once, and reaches down with his other hand. Justin’s head tips back, and Giriko can’t see what Death Scythe is doing but the priest makes a strangled sound and he doesn’t need to.

“ _Is_  he better than me?” Stein asks curiously. Giriko looks over Justin’s shoulder to the meister; he’s got his hands in Death Scythe’s hair, holding the long strands back from the weapon’s face, and he’s watching the scythe move down where Giriko’s can’t quite see.

Giriko tips his head against Justin’s ear and bites against the priest’s earlobe. “Is he better than  _me_?” he hisses, soft so only Justin can hear him, and Justin laughs like a sob and trembles against the chainsaw’s hold. Giriko slides his fingers across the priest’s ass, tauntingly slow, and when he thrusts two fingers into the blond Justin gasps in air and keeps trying to breathe on full lungs, so Giriko can feel his chest working for an impossible inhale.

The chainsaw slides his fingers out. “Breathe  _out_ ,” he hisses, and shoves back up, and Justin’s lungs empty like Giriko’s controlling them with his command. Giriko grins, and sets his forehead between Justin’s shoulderblades, and shuts his eyes. For once it’s enough to listen to the priest’s stuttered breathing and the shake of his body against Giriko’s fingers and forehead without actually  _seeing_  his expression.

There is a sound, something Death Scythe does with his mouth or maybe his throat, and Justin arches back and wails s he comes; Giriko can feel him jerk against the chainsaw’s hold on his wrists. Stein laughs, low and delighted, and after a moment Death Scythe pulls free and says, “Word of advice, Justin, do  _not_  answer any questions regarding the relative quality of blowjobs.” He comes up onto his knees as Giriko lifts his head and lets Justin’s arms go, and the scythe and Giriko’s eyes meet for a moment.

“Unless you say it’s  _me_ ,” Giriko growls, and Justin laughs and leans back against him so the chainsaw is supporting his weight. Giriko wraps his arms around Justin’s waist and kisses the side of the priest’s neck.

“So,” Giriko says into Justin’s skin. “It’s been fun, boys, but I’m going to take my weapon home before he forgets where he’s supposed to be.” He slides sideways off the bed, pulling a mostly-limp and unusually-compliant Justin with him. Stein is in front of him before he sees the meister move, offering Justin’s forgotten clothes like a gift. Giriko tips his head in acknowledgement and accepts them before turning back to help Justin get his jeans back on.

“ _Do_  come again,” Death Scythe says from the bed; he’s stretched out across it entirely careless of his current state of undress, looking as if he’s been doing exactly what he  _has_ been doing.

“It was an interesting experiment,” Stein comments from the doorway.

Giriko pauses before answering, looks to Justin. The priest’s blue eyes are slow to catch on his face and heavy with exhaustion, but when he smiles the slow pace looks sensual and the heaviness in his eyes looks languid, and Giriko doesn’t need to hear his agreement to read it from his face.

“Yeah,” he says without looking away from Justin’s eyes. “Yeah. We will.”


	2. Restraint

They make the trip a lot faster the second time.

That more than anything else speaks to Giriko’s heightened interest. The first time Justin was in the lead, pulling all his Death Weapon dignity around himself in an attempt to stay calm; this time Giriko is leading, and he looks relaxed but he’s walking fast from some combination of anticipation and nervousness. Justin doesn’t push the subject. Giriko’s shoulders are nice to watch in general, but especially when he’s adopting the deliberately loose-limbed swagger he has right now. Justin almost doesn’t speak as they go, although Giriko keeps up a running tirade about what a stupid idea this is and how they should never do it again while taking the straightest path across the city from their apartment to the laboratory itself.

By the time they get there Justin is smiling, back over Giriko’s shoulder where the chainsaw can’t see him, and Giriko has pounded his fist against the door before he looks back and catches the expression on his face.

“What the fuck are you grinning about?” he starts, but Justin is saved from answering by the door opening to reveal Stein. The meister smiles politely, an expression that doesn’t touch his eyes at all, but he is dressed casually like he was the first time, this time in a shirt so blindingly white it nearly glows in the burst of sunlight from the open door.

“Glad you could make it,” Stein says, again with so much studied politeness he sounds faintly robotic. “Please come in.”

Giriko does as soon as the meister steps aside, kicking his boots off without much care as to what they land on. Justin is more careful himself, which just means that he’s left with Stein after the meister has shut the door and Giriko has wandered off into the dim-lit recesses of the lab to pick a fight with Death Scythe as soon as possible.

“Thanks for coming,” Stein says over Justin’s shoulder. He sounds somewhat more sincere, and when Justin looks back the glare is gone off his glasses so the priest can see the dark green color of his eyes behind them. He’s smiling still, the expression more minimal but spread out so the corners of his eyes turn up along with his lips. Justin smiles back, careful about the expression so he’s showing the excitement in his blood and not the nerves, and Stein reaches out as if to touch the side of his face before pulling his hand back and carefully replacing it in his pocket.

They stand there staring at each other in the dark hallway for a minute, Stein’s head tipped at an angle like Justin is a particularly interesting puzzle and Justin caught into stillness by the depth of expression behind the usually-opaque glasses. Then there’s a burst of sound from the other room, and Stein turns sharply towards it.

“Oh dear.” He starts down the hallway. “I should have known better than to leave them alone.”

By the time they make it around the corner to the kitchen, both men are in the process of downing a shot. It  _could_  be their first, but from the splash of alcohol across the counter that seems unlikely, and from the dark edge in Giriko’s gaze the chainsaw has every intention of trying to drink Death Scythe under the table.

“Honestly.” Stein steps forward and takes the empty shot glass from Death Scythe before it’s entirely left his lips. “If you two want to have a drinking contest, could you wait until you’re not wasting other people’s time?”

“Just loosening up,” Giriko says, setting his own glasses down against the table with an audible click. “Your weapon was nervous.”

Death Scythe rolls his eyes even as he reaches out to loop his arm around Stein’s waist. From his angle by the door Justin can see his fingers come up under the loose fabric to seek out skin-to-skin contact as the scythe speaks. “Yeah, and you were just drinking with me out of the goodness of your heart.”

Giriko grins and leans sideways against the counter so his shirt pulls sideways and exposes a triangle of tanned skin along the top of his jeans. Justin’s eyes follow the movement from across the room as the chainsaw growls, “‘Course. Drinking alone is the first sign of alcoholism, you know.”

“I will  _kill_  you,” Death Scythe offers, but there’s no fire in his voice and Stein is smiling.

Giriko grins and glances sideways to where Justin is still standing in the doorway of the room. He pivots to turn his back to the other two and reaches out a beckoning hand. “C’mere. No time to be shy now.”

Justin hesitates, long enough to make it clear he’s  _not_  obeying the casual mastery implicit in the chainsaw’s motion, but he does come, close enough that he can reach out and set his fingers against the exposed skin of Giriko’s hip. The chainsaw grins and leans back without touching him, angling his elbows back on the counter.

“So who goes first this time?” he tosses back over his shoulder at Stein and Death Scythe, though his eyes stay fixed on Justin.

Stein glances at Death Scythe; Justin can see the brief exchange of silent information behind Giriko’s head, and it is Stein who answers without looking away from Death Scythe’s face. “Are you volunteering?”

Giriko barks a laugh. “If no one else has the balls to step up…”

“Let me.” Justin hooks his fingers around the top of Giriko’s jeans. The chainsaw blinks and tips his head.

“Hardly seems fair,” he starts. “You  _did_  get to go first last time.”

“No.” Justin brings his other hand in to start tugging the button of Giriko’s pants free. “Let me go down on you. To start.” He jerks his chin at the other two without looking away from Giriko’s eyes. “They can watch.”

Giriko’s eyebrows come up but he doesn’t pull away, and then Death Scythe laughs from the other side of the counter.

“Done,” he says, stepping behind Stein. The meister follows him like they’re connected by a thread and Death Scythe comes in close against Giriko. The chainsaw eyes him sideways but doesn’t protest aloud, and Death Scythe swings himself up onto the counter behind the chainsaw uncaring of the alcohol spilled over the surface.

“What are you  _doing_?” Giriko snaps as Death Scythe slides in behind him so he’s straddling the chainsaw’s form and Giriko’s shoulders can press into his chest.

“Getting the best view,” Death Scythe offers back. For a minute Justin thinks Giriko might hit the redhead, but then he laughs instead, and some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders.

“Can’t blame you there,” he offers, and when he leans back there’s almost no aggression in the movement at all. “He  _does_  look good with his mouth full of cock.”

Justin shoots him a dark look through his eyelashes, but the chainsaw is grinning when he meets the other man’s gaze.

“I could always suck someone  _else_ ’s,” he offers, although he doesn’t stop pulling at the chainsaw’s fly. When his fingers brush against Giriko’s half-hard length through the fabric of his boxers he can feel the twitch of responsive movement even as the chainsaw hisses in irritation at his words. “I have  _options_  today.”

“Fuck you,” Giriko snaps, and reaches out to grab a handful of Justin’s hair and shove him to his knees. Justin’s legs fold under him, more abruptly than he intends, and he hits the floor hard enough that he hisses in pain.

“You should be  _careful_ ,” he manages as he pulls at the edge of Giriko’s clothes, just enough to free the chainsaw’s cock from jeans and boxers. “I have  _teeth_  you know.”

Giriko laughs and the hand on Justin’s hair loosens enough that it feels like a caress. “Don’t make threats you’re not prepared to keep.”

“Stop  _stalling_ ,” Death Scythe says from over Giriko’s shoulder, and just for that Justin looks up at the scythe and holds his gaze as he brings his mouth down over the chainsaw’s length.

Giriko grunts and rocks forward, and Death Scythe’s eyebrows come up and his mouth comes open. Justin laughs in the back of his throat and makes something of a show out of dragging his tongue all down along Giriko’s cock. Death Scythe swallows visibly, and then Stein steps in and the redhead looks up at the meister instead of down at Justin.

Stein grabs his chin and turns Death Scythe’s head back, leaning in so he can press his mouth against the scythe’s neck. “ _Watch_ ,” he says, loudly enough that Justin can hear it, and when Justin brings his mouth back down it is Death Scythe who whimpers instead of Giriko.

“Hey.” That is Giriko again, and when Justin looks back at him his eyes are dark. “Who are  _you_  watching?”

Justin blinks up at him, deliberately slowly, and opens his mouth and brings his head forward without looking away from the chainsaw’s eyes. Death Scythe hisses in sympathetic reaction when Justin has to stop as Giriko bottoms out at the back of his throat. When Justin tilts his head and takes a breath and comes in farther, Death Scythe goes perfectly, utterly silent, but Giriko laughs, breathy with pleasure but sincerely amused in spite of it.

“You like watching him suck me off?” he asks, shifting his weight. His shoulders go back to grind against Death Scythe and his hips comes forward so he slides further down Justin’s throat. Death Scythe doesn’t answer, except by a shaky inhale at the contact of Giriko against him, but Stein says “It  _is_  interesting,” voice as perfectly calm as if he’s watching an experiment. Justin slides back to take a breath and unfamiliar fingers close on his shoulder to hold him away.

“It is contrary to the basic premise, though, isn’t it?” Stein steps away from Death Scythe -- when Justin looks at him the other weapon’s shirt is undone and hanging loose around his shoulders -- and pushes Justin back as he comes until Giriko’s hold gives way. “Presumably this is a fairly regular occurrence for the two of you.”

“Hey.” Giriko leans up, away from Death Scythe, and steps in until he is inches from the meister. “Do you have a better idea? I didn’t see you or pretty boy over there volunteering and I don’t have any intention of going without.”

Stein leans back without actually stepping away and Justin carefully gets to his feet so he can step backwards and out of range of the other two. “Are you trying to start a fight or seduce me?”

Giriko grins. “Why do I have to pick just one?”

Stein raises an eyebrow and there is a moment of perfect silence. Then he tips his chin down, and smiles back in a way that promises  _pain_ , and a shiver runs all down Justin’s spine.

Giriko keeps grinning, though, even as he tugs his pants back up over his hips and rebuttons his jeans. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re too much like me, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say  _that_ ,” Stein says. He reaches up to pull his glasses off and fold the arms in with a care that belies the casual way he tosses them in Death Scythe’s direction. The weapon fumbles the catch but they land on the counter anyway, and Stein is occupied in watching Giriko while the meister tugs loose the wide-spaced stitches securing the front of his shirt.

“Oh?” Giriko has his hands in his pockets, slouching back like he’s leaning against something although there’s nothing supporting him but his own feet. “Don’t think you can take me on?”

Stein laughs as he slides his shirt free and tosses it aside. The sound has a sharp manic edge to it, and when he tips his head up to the light Justin can see the sparkle of illumination catching on the green in his eyes. “You lack  _style_.”

Giriko’s back comes forward into an angry curl and he steps forward without taking his hands out of his pockets, a long stride Justin recognizes a moment before he brings his other leg up to kick at Stein’s stomach. The meister moves faster than Justin expects, twisting on one foot so Giriko’s kick misses most of its momentum, and catches the chainsaw’s ankle with his bicep instead of his waist. But he’s moving forward too, swinging a palm forward at Giriko’s face, and Giriko has to jerk his head away to take the force against his chin instead of his nose.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hisses, and kicks again. This time Stein ducks entirely so the blow goes high, but when the meister comes in to hit again Giriko is ready for him, swinging hard with his right hand so his knuckles slam hard against Stein’s cheekbone. The meister grunts in acknowledgement of the hit but then he’s jamming an elbow against Giriko’s stomach so all the air leaves the chainsaw’s lungs at once.

“Isn’t he  _amazing_?” Death Scythe’s voice makes Justin jump; the other weapon has come around behind him while he was distracted and is leaning in so his words blow warm air over the back of the priest’s ear.

“Yes,” he says, not sure which one the scythe is talking about and not caring. Giriko lands a solid kick in Stein’s ribs so the meister stumbles backward and brings a hand to press against the impact, but then Stein spins too fast for Giriko to follow and slams his knuckles into the chainsaw’s mouth. Giriko spits blood but comes up grinning.

“Worse for you than for me!” he snaps, and Stein smiles ruefully and shakes red droplets off his torn skin.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, and then they’ve closed again, and Giriko’s fighting dirty, now, closing his fist on Stein’s silver hair to hold him steady and trying to borrow Justin’s headbutt technique. Justin’s not sure  _how_  Stein dodges that, just that he comes away without a broken nose and with Giriko reeling for his balance behind him.

“It’s not all that much my thing, to be honest,” Death Scythe says. He has one arm looped around Justin’s shoulders, and then the fingers of his free hand slide down past the waistband of the priest’s pants to brush over hardened flesh. “Seems to be  _yours_ , though.”

Justin takes a sharp inhale at the contact, but he can’t look away from Giriko. The chainsaw is  _smiling_  bright and delighted, Justin  _recognizes_  that expression, and when Death Scythe’s fingers close around him he whimpers in the back of his throat. The other man laughs and turns his head until Justin can feel his lips brush oddly gentle over his skin, with no threat of teeth as Giriko usually offers. His skin prickles in an odd combination of pleasure and anticipation, and Giriko’s gaze slides sideways to meet his for a moment. Justin can see the chainsaw’s focus slip, the way the tension of combat vanishes for a moment, and he flinches in anticipated pain a moment before Stein’s fist connects with Giriko’s momentarily unprotected ribcage.

Giriko drops to the floor gasping for air, and Justin knows he’s out as thoroughly as Stein does. The meister is relaxing his own guard and stepping back out of range, although from the way Giriko is breathing he won’t be standing for a minute or two.

“That was fun,” Stein says as he turns back to the counter where his glasses are lying. “We should spar again.”

“Fuck you,” Giriko manages, and Stein laughs as he settles his glasses back across his face.

“Yes, well.” He comes over to where Death Scythe is half-supporting Justin, bumps his hip gentle against the scythe’s. Justin can feel the weapon smile against his shoulder as Stein reaches down to actually open the front of his pants. The meister is barely breathing hard, but this close Justin can see the sheen of sweat against his skin and can see the red marks of impact from Giriko’s landed hits.

“ _Hey_.” There’s the sound of movement from behind Stein and then heavy footsteps as Giriko comes towards them. “Don’t team up on the priest while I’m not there.”

“You looked like you could use a break,” Death Scythe says, stepping into the conversation as Stein gets Justin’s pants open and slides the cloth down and free. For a breath there’s two sets of fingers against him, Stein’s and Death Scythe’s tangling together, and then the weapon pulls his hand free and Stein steps in smoothly, and Justin’s pressed up against the meister’s chest instead of leaning against the weapon’s.

“I guess we underestimated your stamina,” Death Scythe says as he steps around Stein towards Giriko, and Justin can hear the chainsaw’s hiss of response. Stein is grinning although the other two can’t see him, and when the meister turns and pulls Justin around in front of him Death Scythe is wearing a matching smirk, as if he’s deliberately trying to taunt the chainsaw into another fight. Giriko surges forward into Death Scythe’s face so the redhead has to lean back away from his approach and hisses an incoherent threat.

Death Scythe’s still grinning, wider if anything. “I mean we could pick back up where we left off last time, if you want to prove your point.” He leans back in himself, so Giriko has to straighten or be kissed. The chainsaw straightens, though for a moment Justin thinks he won’t.

Stein’s hand pulls up hard against Justin so the blond gasps and has to catch his weight on the meister’s wrist. Giriko’s eyes flicker over to them, and for a moment Justin thinks he might break away. Then Death Scythe grabs the front of his shirt to hold him where he is with one hand and the front of his jeans with the other, and the chainsaw’s attention comes snapping back to the other weapon.

“Unless you want to forfeit?” Death Scythe’s fingers are working the button of Giriko’s jeans; he gets it open with just two fingers, which is impressive until Stein twists his hand and slides his thumb against Justin and the priest forgets all about being impressed. “You could take Justin home,” he says, and he’s leaning in so close Giriko must be able to feel him breathe. The chainsaw is frozen, staring at Death Scythe with dislike hard in the lines of his forehead but heat in his eyes. “Just  _give up_ , admit that you’re not  _man_  enough to take me on.”

Giriko’s hand comes out so fast Justin doesn’t see him start to move, just the fist closing on red hair to jerk Death Scythe’s head backward. The other weapon arches back and hisses, but his hand is making it past Giriko’s waistband in spite of the angle, and Giriko is putting his free hand to good use in managing the fly of Death Scythe’s pants.

“Don’t you fuckin’ start on  _my_  manliness,” Giriko spits. “ _Pretty_  boy.” He gets the fly open and down by expedient of pulling so hard Justin can hear the zipper break even at the distance he’s at. Death Scythe flinches in irritation until Giriko grins and closes his fingers around the other weapon’s cock, and then he sighs in satisfaction and so does Stein, the meister’s breath pouring warm over Justin’s throat.

When Giriko starts pumping his hand against Death Scythe the meister catches the rhythm after a moment too, matching the chainsaw’s movement so Justin has the pattern he’s used to set to a different instrument, the calluses of a scythe handle instead of the texture of chains against his skin, and it’s  _almost_  too much but he can’t find the words to tell Stein to go slower and wouldn’t if he could. Death Scythe  _definitely_  thinks it’s too much -- Justin can see him flinching as Giriko’s hand moves, pulling back until he loses his own grip and actually reaches out to half-push the chainsaw away.

“Fuck, Giriko, don’t you have any  _finesse_?” he manages, and his voice is strained tight with pain. Justin can feel Stein go defensively tense behind him, but the meister’s hand doesn’t stop moving and the blond can’t find it in him to care at the moment  _what_  Stein does as long as he doesn’t stop.

Giriko smiles into Death Scythe’s face and steps in to close the distance opened up by the other weapon’s retreat. “Can’t you take it?”

“Ah, you’re --” Death Scythe pushes back on Giriko’s shoulders but the chainsaw doesn’t move. There’s a flicker of movement over the redhead’s face -- his forehead is creased in pain but his mouth is open, too, panting for air. “You’re going too  _fast_ , there’s --” he takes a sharp breath. “There’s no  _way_  Justin likes this.”

Giriko’s eyes flick to Justin at Death Scythe’s words. Whatever he sees makes him grin and pull harder at the weapon’s hair. “He hasn’t had any complaints yet. Besides he sounds  _good_  when he screams.”

Death Scythe laughs at that, like Giriko’s words are startling the reaction from him, and the chainsaw’s face clears from aggressive force into concentration as he focuses all his attention on the movement of his hand. He’s not even really looking at Death Scythe, isn’t really looking at anything, like all his mental energy is concentrated in the movement of his hand. He’s going faster, too, Justin can tell from the way Stein picks up the pace of his hand against Justin’s own length. Justin gasps and Death Scythe whimpers, and when the other weapon’s eyes shut as tension winds visibly tight across his face and shoulders Justin just has time to take it in before his own vision starts to flicker into inconsequential static. There are teeth against his shoulder, faint friction from a flat edge instead of the cutting pressure of Giriko’s razor-edged points, and when Death Scythe wails in what sounds a lot more like pain that pleasure Stein bites down  _hard_  so Justin jerks and whines in pain himself. The meister lets go for a minute, shifts his teeth and does it  _again_ , and this time the starburst of hot pain from his shoulder rushes in against the pleasurable friction over his cock and turns into a wave of shuddering pleasure.

Stein is holding most of his weight when Justin comes back into himself; if he weren’t, the blond’s pretty sure he would be on the floor. Death Scythe kept his feet too by the simple expedience of getting a death grip on Giriko’s shirt and holding himself up that way, but as Justin takes a gasping inhale the chainsaw yanks the hold free and shoves Death Scythe so the redhead folds down onto his knees. Justin can see his shoulders still trembling and can hear his panting breath even at the distance between them, and from the way Giriko is grinning he can too.

“You get to return the favor,” he says, and Death Scythe doesn’t protest at all, just comes back up over his knees and reaches for Giriko’s hips with shaking hands. Giriko bucks forward, just to make things harder for Death Scythe, and actually gets a hiss of irritation when he grabs a handful of red hair with the hand sticky with the scythe’s come. Justin recognizes that move as Giriko trying to pick a fight, but frustration notwithstanding Death Scythe is apparently prone to more compliance than Justin himself, because that one flinching sound is all the reaction he gives before bringing his mouth carefully around Giriko.

Giriko’s head goes back and Justin’s eyebrows come up. The chainsaw’s still got his shirt on, unfortunately, but he’s arching back so the cloth pulls tight over his chest and it’s not covering his shoulders anyway, and Justin can see his satisfaction in the tension there as much as hear it in the low groan that pulls from the chainsaw’s throat.

Stein lets his hold against Justin’s hip go, and between that and a push Justin drops to the floor with somewhat more grace than Death Scythe managed. The floor is hard enough that his knees hurt immediately, but bruised knees are usually the least of his problems, and when he leans forward to rest his weight on his hands as well much of the discomfort fades off.

There’s a touch against his hip but Justin doesn’t turn; Giriko is looking down at Death Scythe blowing him now, smiling a bright delighted smile that lights up his eyes. Justin’s not sure if he’s going to let the scythe keep going or push him off and he doesn’t want to look away in either case. Stein slides his hand back, dragging slow sensation all down Justin’s skin, and the blond shivers but doesn’t protest.

That seems to be enough by way of permission. Stein’s touch vanishes for a moment and Justin takes a breath and remembers to blink. Giriko glances at him, that smile still sharp over his features, and his eyebrows flick up.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Stein says from behind Justin, and then his fingers come back cool and slick.

Giriko shakes his head. “Don’t have much room to protest, do I?” He pulls against Death Scythe’s hair so the other weapon comes in closer, and Stein laughs and slides his fingers into Justin. Two is very close to too much; Justin chokes on his inhale and has to drop his head down, but Stein is slow for all that he doesn’t hesitate, and after the initial shock the pressure turns satisfying instead. When Justin looks back up Death Scythe has stopped and pulled back from Giriko, and both the chainsaw and the scythe are watching Stein’s hands on him with remarkably similar glazed expressions. Then Giriko catches Justin watching and pulls his gaze back to Death Scythe.

“ _Hey_.” The hand in red hair pulls hard enough that Death Scythe whines in protest, but it gets his attention back to the chainsaw as was intended. “You want me to fuck you instead?”

Justin is expecting Death Scythe to go firey with irritation, but instead the redhead laughs with what sounds like perfect sincerity. “ _Sure_ , sounds like fun.” He leans back on his heels and reaches up to hook his fingers over the edge of his opened pants and slide them down his thighs. Giriko is left visibly off balance, although Justin’s pretty sure he’s the only one who sees the wide-eyed blink of shock before the chainsaw recovers his composure.

“And I thought you couldn’t see reason,” he says aloud, following Death Scythe’s example. Stein laughs, very low from behind Justin so the other two can’t hear him, and twists his fingers against the priest so Justin gasps and rocks forward, attention turning fully selfish for a moment. He doesn’t look back up until Stein slides his hand free, and when he does Giriko is watching him again.

“Hey Stein,” the chainsaw says without looking away. “You got lube over there?” Stein tosses the bottle towards him without speaking, and Giriko catches it without breaking eye contact.

“Thanks,” he says, and  _then_  he finally looks away and Justin can blink again, just in time for Stein to set his hands against his hips and pull him back so the meister can thrust forward into him. Justin groans instead of Stein; the meister just sighs, like some tight-wound tension in him has gone slack. Giriko looks back,  _again_ , and it’s not until Death Scythe purrs, “What, changed your mind?” that he remembers what he’s in the middle of doing. He growls wordlessly, and Justin is half-flinching on Death Scythe’s behalf even before the chainsaw gets his fingers sufficiently slick. When he shoves them forward the movement is sharp and violent with aggression so Death Scythe cringes and makes a pained sound of protest. Giriko grins and shoves harder on his second stroke. Death Scythe gasps, and shuts his eyes, and Justin can see him consciously relax against the intrusion and drop his head forward, so when the chainsaw pushes back in the other weapon rocks forward and groans on the exhale and there’s a lot less pain in the sound.

It’s somewhat unsettling to have Stein moving against him while Justin watches Giriko set an entirely different (and significantly faster) pace with Death Scythe. Stein is also unusually quiet; Justin is used to Giriko keeping up a running commentary, and the meister behind him is almost entirely silent. Justin thinks  _he’s_  breathing harder than the other man; the only sign that Stein is reacting at all is the increase of tension in the fingers digging against Justin’s hips. He thinks they might be bruising now, tightening more in time with the half-wailing sounds Death Scythe is making than with the meister’s own movements.

Giriko takes his time, longer than Justin thinks he has ever taken with the priest himself. He’s pretty sure it’s Death Scythe’s whimpers that draw the process out so long, judging from the way Giriko grins every time he gets the redhead to groan or rock forward in response to his movements. Regardless, by the time the chainsaw finally pulls his hand free and comes up to angle himself behind Death Scythe, the other weapon is panting for breath and Stein’s fingers  _are_  bruising Justin’s skin. When Giriko thrusts forward hard and fast and Death Scythe hisses in reaction, Stein  _finally_  makes a sound, a groan just at the edge of hearing, and rocks forward as his hold spasms so hard that Justin whines in pain. A moment later his fingers loosen, and when he pulls away his touch is so gentle it is nearly apologetic even before he speaks.

“Sorry.”

Justin laughs weakly and comes back onto his heels before testing the stability of his legs to hold him. “Don’t be.” He glances back over his shoulder. Stein is sitting back on the floor, eyes hazy and body languid with diffuse pleasure, and when Justin smiles the meister offers one in return.

“Get over here,” Giriko says, and when Justin turns around the chainsaw is eying him appreciatively. “If you’re  _free_  you could put those hands to good use.”

“Oh?” Justin comes forward with a deliberate emphasis on each step, so Giriko’s eyes stay on him even when Death Scythe whines as the chainsaw thrusts forward. “You seem so  _busy_  though.” He steps around behind the other weapon before kneeling behind him and reaching around to close his fingers around the chainsaw’s wrists. “Though  _you_  might have too  _much_  use of your hands, I suppose.”

Giriko laughs, and Justin doesn’t even have to pull hard to get him to release his hold on Death Scythe’s hips so the blond can twist his arms around behind his back. There’s a moment of hesitation, when Giriko nearly falls and Death Scythe starts to rock too far forward, but then Stein is there too, grabbing his weapon’s shoulders so he can draw Death Scythe upright on his knees and offer his support to the redhead.

“Better?” the meister asks, looking to Giriko for affirmation. The chainsaw grins, and leans back hard against Justin so he rock his hips up. Death Scythe purrs a sound with no pain at all and winds his arms around Stein’s neck so he can press his mouth to the meister’s neck, and Stein tips his head down to his weapon so red and silver hair tangle together.

Giriko arches his back, and pulls hard at Justin’s hold, more for the freedom than with any specific need for his arms, but when the priest gets his hands locked down  _no_  one gets free, and he resists the attempt without any real difficulty. Giriko hisses but he’s grinning too, and when Justin leans in to almost kiss him he tries to bridge the gap.

“Focus,” Justin chides, twisting his hold painfully tight for a moment. “Aren’t you supposed to be fucking Death Scythe?”

Giriko growls and tries again, but Justin leans back and out of range, and he can hear the chainsaw’s breathing going hard and desperate against his mouth. He shifts his hold and bends Giriko’s arm up hard behind him, and the chainsaw grunts in protest and sucks in a sharp inhale. When Justin leans back in, Giriko’s eyes flicker over his features so fast he’s sure the chainsaw’s not really seeing him, and when he breathes “ _Giriko_ ” he knows it’ll be enough even before Giriko groans and bucks forward and Justin feels the tremor of pleasure shiver through his body.

Justin lets his resistance go as Giriko sighs, so they both topple backward under the chainsaw’s weight. Giriko hisses as they go, but he lands half on top of Justin so his impact is less than bruising, and Stein is grinning at them so when the chainsaw sees him he starts laughing instead of shouting.

“We should do this at our place next time,” he says.

Death Scythe half-turns to look at them and tries to pull his fingers through his hair before running up against the sticky tangle Giriko’s fingers left. He makes a face and gives up on the attempt.

“Sounds like fun,” he says before looking back to Stein. “Stein?”

The meister smiles at the weapon and leans in to press a kiss against the mess of his hair. “Setting is a perfectly valid experimental constraint.” He looks at Giriko and Justin and offers a careful smile. “And  _definitely_  something that should be investigated.”


	3. Watching

“I’m nervous,” Spirit declares. Stein gives him a look around the edge of his glasses.

“You’ve been saying that,” he says levelly. “You don’t  _look_  particularly nervous.”

“Oh, but I am,” the scythe declares loftily. He has one hand up playing idly with the ends of his hair and one in his pocket, and the whole curve of his arm and neck and back looks perfectly and entirely relaxed. “Very nervous. Panicked, really. You know I’ve never been to Justin’s apartment?”

“I am not sure why you would have occasion to go there,” Stein notes. He is still looking at Spirit’s shoulders, the strip of skin exposed past his cuff by the angle of his arm. “I’m not surprised, at least.”

“It’s a whole new experience,” Spirit goes on, not acknowledging Stein’s comment except by the pause in his speech. “Who knows what it’ll be like.”

Stein can’t quite hold back the smile pulling at his mouth at the bubbling sound of Spirit’s words. “I would think you’d have a lot of experience going to strange houses, senpai.” Stein observes. “Given your history.”

Spirit waves a hand dismissively. “Reports of my misdeeds have been terribly exaggerated by biased parties.”

“Have they.” Stein is still watching the redhead’s face, so when Spirit glances sideways to grin their eyes catch and hold for a minute. Stein steps in closer and reaches out to touch the curve of Spirit’s spine through his shirt. The movement is awkward as his initiated contact always is, but Spirit drops his arm and curls his back to press into the touch like he doesn’t notice the hesitation in the moment before Stein’s fingers connect. Stein can feel Spirit’s flushed skin hot even through his shirt, and he can feel the tension wound tight too.

“You  _are_  nervous.”

Spirit laughs again, and this time there is a note of panic under the sound. “I told you, Stein. I never lie to you.”

“Mm.” Stein doesn’t speak again, but he keeps his hand where it is, shifts his fingers so Spirit has the support of full-hand contact instead of just the tips of his fingers, and Spirit leans in slightly towards him in response.

Giriko is the one who opens the door. Stein can feel the half-controlled tension snap into rigid aggression as soon as Spirit sees the chainsaw even without seeing the way Spirit tilts his shoulders back so his usual posture angles into a deliberate slouch.

“Giriko!” The scythe’s voice is overly affectionate, assuming a camaraderie that even Stein knows isn’t present. “How  _are_  you?”

Giriko rolls his eyes and steps back with minimal reaction. Stein’s eyebrows come up involuntarily; Justin must be having an excellent influence on the other weapon. “Come in,” he says, and if the words lack any real invitation at least he bothers to say them.

Spirit steps in, pulling away from Stein’s touch as he does so, and the meister follows with somewhat less alacrity. Giriko sends Spirit a glare that the scythe doesn’t see before looking back at Stein with a somewhat more neutral expression.

“How d’you stand him?” Ordinarily the structure of the question indicates it would be rhetorical, but Giriko has his head tipped sideways and looks like he might  _actually_  listen to a response, so Stein takes a moment to formulate a valid one.

“He’s not as argumentative when he’s not around you,” Stein offers. “You bring out the worst in him.”

Giriko rolls his eyes. “ _Great_. Just peachy.” He heads down the hallway without waiting for Stein, so the meister is left to shut the door behind himself and follow in everyone else’s wake.

Spirit is leaning in against Justin as he joins the others in the living room, Giriko glowering at them both from the far side of the couch. Spirit’s body is angled in towards the priest but his eyes keep flickering over to Giriko, and as Stein draws into range he looks towards his meister and flashes a grin bright with mischief.

Stein starts moving towards Giriko then. It seems like the safest option in case Spirit tries something reckless, as of course he does. Stein is barely within range of the chainsaw when Spirit leans in to kiss the corner of Justin’s mouth, and even though Justin pulls away he’s laughing and going pink, and Giriko  _hisses_  in a sound of pure range and starts to fling himself off the couch and towards the two Death Weapons.

Stein catches his arm as he goes, not hard enough to be aggressive but just to get the chainsaw’s attention. It works, surprisingly; the other man comes to a halt and looks back at Stein before he turns back towards the others and growls, “Keep your  _mouth_  to yourself, Death Scythe.”

“You do this every time,” Stein observes without judgment. “You know this is why he keeps doing it.”

“He should fucking  _stop_ ,” Giriko shoots back without turning.

Spirit’s eyes are sparkling so bright with amusement that Stein nearly lets Giriko go so the chainsaw can throw himself at the redhead with deserved frustration. But then Justin turns to look over his shoulder at the other two, and his eyes are wide and clear with assumed innocence and his mouth is curved in a deliberately taunting smile, and Stein retracts his consideration in favor of protecting Justin.

“No kissing, then?” Justin lilts. “What am I supposed to do with my  _mouth_ then?”

When he reaches for the front of Spirit’s slacks the redhead squeaks in surprise, apparently caught as off-guard as Stein is by the priest’s forwardness. But Giriko hisses and pulls hard on Stein’s hold until the meister has to reach out to grab his free arm just to hold him in place.

“ _No_  you fucking don’t,” Giriko snaps, and Justin’s shoulders go stiff at the chainsaw’s proprietary tone.

He doesn’t turn around when he speaks again. “I  _really_  don’t appreciate your possessiveness,” he starts, and keeps talking as Giriko begins to splutter. “How are you going to stop me?”

When Stein looks at Spirit the scythe is watching Giriko, a flicker of concern under the excitement in his eyes, but when Justin gets his fingers past the edge of the other weapon’s pants the concern and excitement both dissolve into pleasure as Spirit drops his head back to purr in satisfaction. Stein flinches in involuntary reaction to the sound coming from the weapon’s throat, but Giriko misses the opportunity of his distraction to break free, and then Justin drops to his knees and Spirit and Giriko both take a choked inhale of surprise.

Justin is watching Giriko sideways as he moves, but from the way Giriko is growling Stein is pretty sure the chainsaw is paying more attention to what the blond’s hands are doing as he works at the front of Spirit’s slacks than who he’s looking at. Justin gets the scythe’s pants open and brings his head in to take the other man’s half-hard length into his mouth; Spirit flinches in surprise, although he’s laughing too, and Giriko whines and pulls and Stein has to twist his arm up hard against his back before he subsides.

The meister brings his head in to breathe against the chainsaw’s ear. “Seriously, every time. We don’t have to do this at all if you hate it so much.”

Giriko tries to make a sound of protest but it goes odd in his throat and triggers some spark of recognition in Stein’s head. He switches his hold, pins both Giriko’s arms with one hand, and the chainsaw’s lack of resistance to this excellent chance to pull himself free proves Stein’s suspicion even before he brings his hand down to press experimentally into the front of the other man’s jeans. The fabric is pulled tight over the other’s erection; from the feel of it he’s closer than Spirit even with the minimal amount of contact he has had so far.

Stein laughs and starts unbuttoning the chainsaw’s fly one-handed. “My apologies. I  _always_  forget. Force of habit, you know.” He gets the zipper down far enough that he can slide his hand down inside Giriko’s boxers, and the chainsaw makes a sound that is almost a purr in spite of the frustration still bleeding tangibly off his skin. “Senpai’s really not anything like you.”

“I fucking  _hope_  not,” Giriko spits, but he sounds less rawly murderous, and when Stein looks back at the other two Spirit has his hands in Justin’s hair and there’s nothing across his face but pleasure, not even a trace of the taunting amusement he had to start. He always commits entirely to experiences, and while Stein can see a whole variety of calculations across Justin’s face Spirit can’t even remember to keep his mouth shut, much less control the half-laughing moans currently spilling over his lips.

Stein keeps watching Spirit as he pulls Giriko back against him and finds a rhythm, because his half-formed apology has no bearing on what he  _actually_  remembers. Giriko is more solid against his chest than the scythe, heavier and broader and less willing to let himself curve passively into another person, but that doesn’t make him impossible to reach. When Stein pulls the weapon back Giriko goes with a growl of impotent protest, and when the meister starts stroking a fast pattern over the chainsaw’s length he can feel the other man’s balance go shaky and vulnerable. Giriko’s hand closes hard around Stein’s wrist -- that’s going to bruise tomorrow -- but his breathing sounds shaky with distraction now instead of anger, and Justin’s eyes are following the movement of Stein’s hand until he can’t continue for the smile trying to curve over his face.

Spirit whines in protest as Justin pulls away, although he doesn’t enforce the gentle hold he has on the other’s blond hair. “Why --” he starts even before he blinks to look down at Justin’s face. “Why’d you stop?” Then he follows the other’s gaze up to Stein and Giriko and a smile flashes bright over his face before he can pull his features into a mock pout.

“Distracted?” Spirit tips his head back to absently flick his hair back from his eyes. “I can’t blame you. Is there something else that would better hold your attention?”

Justin jerks his gaze up back to Spirit’s face, startled into focus, and for a moment the two Death Weapons grin at each other. Then Spirit lets go of the blond’s hair as Justin comes to his feet, and when the priest leans in to catch the scythe’s lower lip Spirit lets him, the sparkle of his grin turning gentle in a smile instead.

Stein is distracted. He blames that, ultimately, for his failure to keep ahold of Giriko. It’s not helped by the chainsaw’s lack of resistance a moment before; normally Stein would have kept his guard up nonetheless, but he’s watching Spirit’s mouth and Spirit’s neck and when Giriko twists an elbow up into his stomach and shoves his hold away he pulls back instinctively from the pain before he can think.

The gasp of reaction draws Spirit’s attention, so the redhead has a chance to flinch back from the chainsaw’s grab at his hair. It’s not enough to dodge entirely, though; by the time Stein has had a second to catch his breath Giriko has shoved Justin off Spirit and taken the other weapon’s place in front of the redhead, hand fisted in long hair and pulling Spirit’s head over at an angle that  _cannot_  be comfortable.

“Giriko,” Stein starts as he comes forward, the word underlined with warning. Giriko doesn’t look at him, but as the meister comes in closer the chainsaw looks remarkably calm and the threat of actual injury to his weapon fades off from Stein’s thoughts.

“Sorry,” Giriko says, and if he doesn’t actually sound sorry he doesn’t sound deliberately offensive either. “You gotta keep your hands off the priest.”

“Why?” Spirit asks blithely. “Afraid I’m going to win him away from you?”

Stein is expecting Giriko to hit the scythe, is already half-reaching to catch the chainsaw’s swing. But Giriko  _laughs_  instead, and both Stein and Justin go still with shock at the sound.

“Not at all.” Giriko pulls at the hand in Spirit’s hair and the scythe drops to his knees in front of the other man without protest, though his eyes are still sparkling up at the other weapon. “I just have more to offer than the blond.”

Spirit laughs in delighted surprise, and when Giriko grins down at him Stein has a sense of the world realigning itself around this new event, Spirit and Giriko actually  _getting along_  for a moment. Justin is staring at the odd pair with wide eyes as well, not even protesting when Giriko lets his hold go so he can smooth his fingers through Spirit’s hair instead of pulling at it.

“You  _do_  have nice hair, pretty boy,” he offers, and Spirit grins and tips his head to the side.

“So I’ve been told. Glad to see your sense of taste isn’t as utterly lost as your fashion sense would lead me to believe.” Spirit sounds a little breathless, still adrenaline-fueled from pleasure, but the words have the snap of teasing in them and when Giriko growls and shoves at him he ducks out of the way laughing before Stein can close the distance.

“Fuck you,” Giriko offers.

Spirit drops onto the ground, leaning across the hardwood floor as if it’s a lounge chair, and he glances at Stein for just a moment before turning his best smoky gaze on Giriko. Even not directed at him it makes the meister’s breath stutter, and Justin actually takes a whimpering inhale before Giriko chuckles.

“Okay,” he says as if he’s answering a question. He drops to his knees with more speed than care, and when he reaches for Spirit’s hips it’s only the weapon’s anticipatory movement that keeps the chainsaw from pulling too hard to get his slacks free. As it is, luckily, Spirit’s half out of them before Giriko even touches him, and the scythe is twisting onto his stomach before the chainsaw can speak or pull him.

Stein steps around the other two once it’s clear that Giriko is more amused than angry at Spirit’s anticipation, and although Justin doesn’t look at him at all the blond leans into his touch when he brushes his fingers over the back of the priest’s neck.

“Justin,” Giriko says, and for all that he’s a weapon his voice is loaded with the weight of a confident meister. “Go get me --”

Justin is moving as soon as the chainsaw says his name, and when he throws the bottle from his pocket at the other man it very nearly catches Giriko in the face before the other can get his hand up to grab it.

“ _Hey_ ,” Giriko starts to snap, but Justin is talking fast over him.

“That  _is_  what you wanted, isn’t it?”

The chainsaw bares his teeth at the priest, and for a second Stein thinks he’s going to go for the blond, no thanks to the taunting jut of Justin’s hip as he’s standing, but then Spirit makes a half-repressed whimpering noise and shifts his weight, and Giriko’s attention is pulled back to the redhead in front of him. He laughs and reaches out to touch Spirit’s hip with an air of ownership, and Stein has an odd flash of irritation rise up under his skin. It doesn’t fade as Justin trails his hands down the meister’s waist, barely flickers as the blond gets to his knees and begins to unbutton the front of Stein’s pants; it lingers until Giriko moves that hand, lets Spirit go in favor of handling the bottle of lube, and Stein takes a sharp inhale just as Justin slides his fingers past fabric to brush over the meister’s length.

All Stein’s new-won air leaves his lungs in a rush, the burn of sensation from his body overriding the prickle of jealousy in his brain, and Spirit looks up and sideways with the snap reflex of concern. Stein can see his gaze glide over the meister’s own face, down to the priest’s shifting form, and the concern fades out into amusement instead. Spirit looks back up to catch Stein’s eyes and is opening his mouth to say something when Giriko thrusts a slick finger inside him, and whatever he was going to say is lost in the whine startled out of his throat.

Giriko laughs. “Somethin’ you wanted to say, pretty boy?” Spirit doesn’t respond, though Stein can hear the roughened pace of his breathing, knows the expression on the weapon’s face from experience rather than observation. Giriko pulls back and slides his hand back in, slower this time, and Stein hears the way Spirit’s breath catches audibly on the exhale.

“No?” Giriko says, and then Justin’s mouth closes over the head of Stein’s cock and for a minute and in spite of his best intentions the meister loses track of the surroundings outside of physical sensation. Justin’s mouth is  _different_  than Spirit’s, smaller and angled slightly differently, and he locks his lips tight and sucks right away rather than taking the slow, savouring lead-in the scythe seems to prefer. It’s strange and unfamiliar and the failure of his expectations spark through Stein’s veins like each one is a firework. He reaches for hair but that’s wrong too, shorter and downy fine instead of thick and silky, and when he opens eyes he doesn’t remember shutting blue eyes the wrong shade are sparkling up at him with barely-contained amusement.

Giriko is still working on Spirit, though it looks like he has two fingers now and is moving with the steady pattern that says he’s almost ready. Spirit is breathing too hard and too rhythmically, his exhales so perfectly measured with Giriko’s motions that Stein thinks he would know what’s happening just from the sound of that. He must make some sound, an odd inhale or a barely audible whine, because the chainsaw looks up at him. Stein can see the jealousy filter over his features as Giriko’s eyes land on Stein’s hands against Justin’s hair, Justin’s mouth around Stein’s cock, but when he looks up to see where Stein’s looking the irritation shifts into dark amusement instead of rage.

“Hey.” The word is directed at Spirit. When the redhead doesn’t respond Giriko hits him, snapping his fingers against the scythe’s thigh. It’s clearly light, just to get the other weapon’s attention, but Stein still hisses and his hands go into fists against Justin’s hair. The priest hums, and comes in farther, and that is enough distraction Stein almost doesn’t catch when Giriko says, “Pull your hair back, your meister wants to  _see_  you.”

Spirit looks up at Stein before the meister can collect his features from the uncontrolled pleasure of Justin’s mouth sliding against him. The scythe’s face drops into  _want_ , the strange relaxation at his eyes and mouth almost indistinguishable from pain, and when he looks away it’s with a gasping inhale like he’s been hit. But he’s shifting too, adjusting his weight to free a hand, dragging his hair obediently over his shoulder to leave his features in profile so Stein can see the part of his lips and the curve of his eyelashes. The meister sucks in air, and Giriko laughs, and when the chainsaw pushes forward into Spirit Stein can see the motion written clear in Spirit’s face. The scythe’s eyes shut, his mouth comes open as he sighs, and he’s just rocking back into the intrusion when Justin shifts his head and pulls Stein in by his hips and the meister’s attention fractures apart again.

It’s easier to focus with his eyes shut. Justin is doing something worth learning with his tongue and lips and throat, taking Stein farther into his mouth than Spirit’s instinctive reflex can manage, and Spirit himself is gasping with every movement Giriko makes and punctuating with whimpered moans of his own every so often. The auditory and sensory input is about all Stein can handle at one time, but knowing his limits hasn’t ever been enough to hold him to them, and when he feels satisfaction sparking like a promise along his spine he forces his eyes open. Then it’s too much, his brain can’t handle everything at once: there’s the sensation of Justin’s mouth on his cock and Justin’s hands steadying at his hips, and Spirit’s head is dropped down like he can’t hold it up anymore but he keeps looking sideways at Stein, checking to see if the meister is watching him. When their eyes meet Spirit flinches and Stein can see the shudder of pleasure in the awareness ripple through him, and Giriko can feel it from the way the chainsaw gasps for breath and speeds the movement of his hips. Spirit is rocking forward with each motion from the chainsaw, and Justin is moving out of time to the others but setting a pace that is almost too fast and too much, and Stein’s hands lie steady in his hair and the meister doesn’t tell him to stop.

Giriko growls and reaches forward along the line of Spirit’s back, grabs at a handful of the scythe’s hair to pull his head back. Spirit tips his head and arches his back in instant responsive obedience, and Stein knows that will be too much for Giriko without using Soul Perception, without even looking away from Spirit’s hazy eyes. The chainsaw groans and thrusts forward so hard Spirit flinches from the pull at his hair, and when Giriko comes Stein can feel Justin sigh although the blond isn’t watching the other two at all. All that sensation is still prickling over Stein’s skin, pushed back into the realm of anticipation instead of resolution by his focus on Spirit, and when Giriko lets him go and Spirit drops his head forward the fall of his hair is almost enough, would be enough if Stein were chasing the pleasure pooling in his abdomen instead of waiting for it.

Giriko drops back to the floor, hands shaking in the moment before he fists them into his hair to hide his reaction, and Spirit arches his back and stretches like a cat, and Stein can feel inevitability set in even before the redhead gets to his feet. Justin is almost laughing, Stein can feel the amusement pulling tight in his throat and over his lips, and he’s pretty sure the blond is looking up at him but he can’t pull his own gaze away to be sure. Spirit crosses the space in a step and reaches out to brush his fingers over the top of Justin’s head. The priest purrs in the back of his throat and Stein’s body goes taut with anticipation, and then Spirit leans in. Stein angles his head and Spirit brushes his mouth along the edge of the meister’s jawline, and his lips are still pressing heat into Stein’s skin when the anticipation crests and breaks into trembling pleasure.

When Stein recollects control over his body and mind, he’s got one arm around Spirit’s shoulders and the fingers of his other are tangled together with Justin’s hair and Spirit’s hand. Spirit is laughing against his neck, the high breathy amusement he always falls into after sex, and when Justin pulls free he’s smirking too.

“Isn’t he great?” Giriko offers as Justin gets to his feet. Stein twists to look at the chainsaw still sitting on the floor. He’s got his shoulders against a wall and looks as languid as if the support is the only thing keeping him upright. His face is perfectly relaxed, none of the usual rage lurking behind his eyes, and for a minute he looks calm and content and more sane than Stein has ever seen him. His eyes land on Justin and the meister can see them go soft, can see the neutral line of Giriko’s mouth twist into tenderness so rare that it is startling; then Justin starts to turn to look back and the expression vanishes like it was never there, entirely gone by the time the blond gets a look at his face.

“I’ve trained him well,” Giriko goes on, all leering taunting now, and Justin makes a face Stein can’t quite see but that gets the chainsaw to laugh. “Come on, Stein, don’t monopolize the party. They can take care of themselves without us, can’t you boys?”

Justin tips his head back in a gesture full of haughty self-assurance. “As long as you don’t get into trouble left on your own.”

Giriko doesn’t rise to that bait either. He grins and waves a hand idly. “I’m out, kid, you’re gonna have to amuse yourself with the redhead at this point.”

Justin turns towards Spirit, who raises an eyebrow and grins, and Stein smiles before leaning in to return the kiss against Spirit’s jawline. The weapon tips his head and makes a whimper of delight in his throat, and Stein murmurs, “Have fun,” before disentangling himself and going to drop bonelessly to the floor next to Giriko.

“Hey,” the chainsaw says without looking away from the Death Weapons.

Stein nods in acknowledgment without speaking, and they both fall silent. Spirit and Justin aren’t speaking themselves, so there’s just the rustle of cloth and lips on skin as they close with each other. Spirit is avoiding Justin’s mouth with a care that appears accidental, if not for the glances he keeps darting in Giriko’s direction, but he’s peppering the rest of the priest’s face instead, brushing his lips over forehead and nose and chin. Justin is smiling, eyes shut under the onslaught of the redhead’s mouth while he manages the half-done buttons on Spirit’s shirt, but Spirit has years more experience than the blond and is making significant headway on Justin’s clothes even with the distraction of his mouth on skin.

“Damn, he’s  _efficient_ ,” Giriko comments as Spirit shoves Justin’s shirt off his shoulders before the priest has managed more than three buttons on the scythe’s shirt.

“He is,” Stein says. He’s somewhat distracted even from Spirit’s movements by the pattern of metal against the chainsaw’s ear; he reaches out to touch the topmost stud and Giriko jumps, startles like he’s been shocked.

“Did it hurt, getting this put in?” Stein asks curiously.

There’s tension hard against Giriko’s shoulders -- Stein can feel it even in the minimal contact they have -- but the chainsaw musters a laugh anyway.

“Probably less than your screw,” he responds.

Stein grins, although Giriko’s not looking at him. “That’s fair.” He drops his hand and Giriko relaxes, though he glances back at the meister’s face with curiosity in his eyes. Then there’s a gasp -- from Justin, since Stein doesn’t recognize it immediately -- and both their attention goes up to focus on the other two.

Spirit has his hand down Justin’s pants; his shirt is half-off one shoulder and his hair is tangled from Giriko’s pulling and his own self-inflicted ruffling. His eyes are dark, flickering from the fluster of emotion over Justin’s face to the eyes on the two of them and he’s hard as he’s been since Justin started blowing him. He looks depraved and like the personification of sex itself, all slick sweat and panting breath and questing hands, and Stein takes a sharp breath of reaction without meaning to. Giriko looks back at him but Stein doesn’t shift his gaze, so he’s watching as the blond and redhead half-topple to the floor in a tangle of limbs and movement and want. Justin ends up underneath Spirit, and between the priest’s desperate hands and Spirit’s own attempts the last of the blond’s clothes come free in a quick if not graceful flurry of movement. Justin rocks up into Spirit’s touch, and the scythe laughs bright before he looks up to see the other two watching them.

“Here,” he says breathlessly, grabbing at Justin’s hip and sliding them around so he can look up and see the other two and Justin can tip his head back. The blond doesn’t avail himself of the opportunity but Spirit does, grinning at Giriko as he fumbles for the abandoned bottle of lube.

“Do you mind?” he asks Justin, and the blond laughs and arches his hips up.

“No,  _no_  I don’t mind.”

Spirit looks up at Giriko, and it’s not taunting this time as much as legitimately questioning. Giriko says nothing at all, barely takes a breath, even when Spirit reaches down without looking to slide his fingers inside Justin so the priest gasps and jerks against the floor.

“Giriko’s watching you,” he notes, sounding more calm than he has yet, and Justin tips his head back and around and flutters his eyelashes at the chainsaw. Giriko laughs but it’s somewhat strained in his throat, and Justin hears the tension as clearly as Stein does if the grin he flashes is any indication. The smile lingers, though the sharp edge flickers and vanishes, transmuting into pleasure as Spirit moves his hand, and when the scythe wraps his free hand around the blond’s length Justin’s eyes shut and his control disintegrates into raw satisfaction.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says, enunciating the word with all the delight of a child unfamiliar with the word, and that gets Giriko to laugh around the distracted focus of the moment. Spirit laughs and moves his hand again, and when Stein looks at his face he’s looking down at the blond with an expression of total charm over his features.

They make a very pretty picture, Justin arching taut with pleasure against the floor while Spirit’s arms shift with the movement of his hands inside and on the other. Spirit is smiling, hasn’t stopped smiling, and he keeps laughing like the sound is bubbling up uncontrollably from his blood, even as he slides his hand free and comes around to line himself up with Justin’s form under him. Spirit rocks forward and Justin arches up, and as they come together everyone in the room takes a sharp inhale.

There is a moment of consternation as Spirit gets his weight settled and Justin angles his legs as wide as he can spread them, and then the scythe gets his hand back where it was around the blond’s length and Justin makes a sound that says he won’t last very long. Of course, Spirit’s already breathing hard, has been building up to this since they arrived, and when he catches Stein’s gaze his eyelashes flutter and he smiles the languid smile of approaching pleasure so Stein can see the impending orgasm more clearly than the weapon can.

Giriko is breathing in time with the movement of Spirit’s hips, Stein realizes, and when he glances at the chainsaw the other man’s eyes are fixed on Justin like he’s nearly forgotten the other two are there at all. Justin’s hands are braced flat on the floor, taking most of his weight so he can curve almost entirely up off the floor into Spirit’s touch, and then he takes a gasping inhale and goes taut and comes, dropping back to the floor like his body is incapable of holding him up anymore. Spirit’s own movements are going jerky along with his breathing, and then he looks up from Justin’s aftershocks to meet Stein’s gaze. He grins, and starts to laugh, and then the sound dies in his throat and he rocks forward, and Stein can see the pleasure sweep over his features and wipe out his contextual awareness.

Giriko is coming forward to collect Justin before Stein moves, pulling the blond to his feet and holding the priest’s weight as Spirit falls back and sideways to lie flat on the floor. Stein follows Giriko’s example, gets to his feet and comes over to stand over Spirit and smile down at him. “Had fun?”

“Mm.” Spirit smiles at him before shutting his eyes, apparently fully intent on falling asleep where he lies.

“Come on, senpai. I’ll take you home. Where are your pants?”

Spirit waves his hand dismissively. “Dunno. I’ll find them later.”

“Here.”

Stein turns and Giriko tosses the clothing his way. The chainsaw is trying to scowl but Justin’s grinning and trailing his fingers through the other man’s hair, and he keeps losing control of his expression and starting to smile before he remembers where he is.

“Thanks,” the meister answers with a grin before turning back and beginning the uphill battle of convincing Spirit to get more-or-less dressed again.


	4. Explanation

“Why did you want to do this in the first place?” Spirit finally asks when they’re nearly to Giriko and Justin’s apartment.

Stein is gazing off into the distance, apparently entirely lost in thought. He could be thinking about the tests he has to grade, or the proper technique for vivisecting frogs, or coming up with new techniques to try in the next hour. Spirit has no idea, can’t tell from the blank expression on the meister’s face. It’s impressive, honestly. Stein has the best poker face Spirit has ever seen; even when he does lower his guard, it has more the sense of deliberately expressing his interior life than the uncontrolled flicker of information Spirit always accidentally exhibits to the world.

Even now, when Spirit would swear that no matter what Stein is thinking about he’s not listening, the younger man just pauses and glances at him before responding without asking for repetition of the question. “Experimentation.”

Spirit rolls his eyes, the motion affectionate with years of practice. “With you everything is experimentation.” He leans in to bump his elbow against the other man’s arm. Stein rocks away in response to the contact, but he’s smiling even though he’s still looking off into the distance in front of them. “Experimentation about what, specifically?”

Stein hums thoughtfully in the back of his throat. “Relationships.”

Spirit shoots him a sideways glance. “Stein…”

The meister tips his head to look back. There’s a smile lurking along his lower lip, the curve not quite naturally relaxed as he meets Spirit’s gaze. “Senpai?”

Spirit tries to form words, and fails, and finally just laughs and looks away. “I love you.”

Stein doesn’t say anything, but he reaches out to touch the edge of Spirit’s wrist along the cuff of his shirt and that’s better than speech.

Justin has Giriko with him when he answers their knock. The priest is smiling politely; Giriko is glaring, but no more than usual, which is a pleasant surprise for Spirit at least. The chainsaw has his arm possessively around Justin’s shoulders and doesn’t move it even as they exchange the usual absurdity of pleasantries and come into the apartment, so when Justin heads back down the hallway the older man follows in his wake like he’s being led by his hold on the other’s shoulders.

Stein leans in as Spirit moves to follow the other two, breath blowing warm over the curve of the scythe’s ear. “Just watch. It’s  _fascinating_.”

Spirit doesn’t have the faintest idea what the meister is talking about, but his voice dropped low and delighted on the last word, so full of emotion that the redhead is looking back at his partner in surprise. There’s nothing but mild curiosity on the meister’s face, but he smiles at Spirit’s expression.

“ _Watch_ ,” he says, and gestures towards the retreating backs of the other two.

Spirit heaves a sigh and continues down the hall with Stein in his wake until they gather in the living room. Giriko has settled on the couch, dragging Justin in close to him and planting his heels hard on the table. Stein steps around Spirit before the weapon has moved to sit down, and he starts speaking as if he has been maintaining a running conversation.

“Do you see what I mean?” He’s raised one hand to gesture vaguely at the other two but he’s not looking at them; he’s watching Spirit’s face, waiting for some reaction though Spirit doesn’t know what.

“No,” Spirit says even as Giriko’s expression hardens into actual irritation instead of just the default expectation of such and the chainsaw snaps, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Stein sighs, like they are both particularly slow students, and slides his hands into his pockets before turning to fully face the pair on the couch.

“Look at the way they’re positioned.” His voice has taken on lecturing-tone, and Spirit can feel himself falling into student-mode without intending to, his reaction instinctively in line with Stein’s action. “Giriko’s arm is around Justin’s shoulders, which looks like affection.”

“Yes,” Spirit says impatiently, ignoring the way Giriko is starting to go dull red and the amused sparkle rising in Justin’s eyes. “Are you just discovering affection now, Stein, because I thought I’d been doing a better job than that.”

Stein shoots him a glance sideways but keeps going. “But he’s tense, you can see the nerves in the line of his shoulders.” Giriko goes more stiff, unintentionally underlining the meister’s point. “And Justin is leaning in but he’s gone deliberately gentle. He’s making a point of capitulation.” He smiles, private amusement curving his face into pleasure. “It’s easier to see this with their soul wavelengths, of course, but lacking that…”

“ _Hey!_ ” Giriko snaps, and he tries to come forward and pull Justin in against him at the same time. The two motions together result in no net shift other than Giriko going taut with fury. “Don’t fucking  _invade_  my head, freak!”

“I’m  _not_  looking at your wavelength,” Stein sighs, like this should be patently obvious. “I don’t  _need_  to, when you’re as obvious as you are right now.”

Giriko hisses in frustration but Justin giggles, bright and sharply amused, and when the chainsaw turns on him Spirit flinches but Justin closes to catch the corner of Giriko’s mouth with his. Spirit doesn’t need Stein to spell out the way the tension softens in Giriko face and shoulders and arms or the way the chainsaw drags it back up by force, like it’s armor he’s putting back on over himself.

The meister reaches out to slide his fingers under Spirit’s hair so they can ghost gentle against bare skin at the back of the scythe’s neck, and when Justin licks the edge of Giriko’s mouth and the chainsaw’s eyes drop out of focus Stein steps in close enough that Spirit can feel the presence of his form not-quite touching his back and murmurs gentle against his ear.

“Justin’s in control,” he says, and Spirit can see it, the way Giriko’s attention is shattering away under the priest’s touch and actions. “He’s choosing to give in, not forced to it.” The words come with a whisper of hot breath against the skin around Spirit’s ear and the scythe is starting to lose focus himself, forcing himself to stay attentive but only catching bits of the whole: the soft shape of Justin’s mouth on Giriko’s skin, the motion in Giriko’s shoulders as he sucks in a startled breath, the shift of Justin’s fingers as the priest reaches around Giriko’s waist for his own hold on the other man.

“He’s trying to resist the effect,” Stein continues. His hand is still unmoving against Spirit’s neck, but the scythe imagines he can feel the younger man’s fingers going tense against his skin. “But it’s not working, and Justin knows it won’t work.”

Spirit wouldn’t have seen this on his own. He’s sure of it, or rather sure that he might have seen and not understood. But as soon as Stein speaks Spirit sees it; he can spot the amusement under Justin’s mouth and the laughter in his eyes, and the tension in Giriko’s shoulders looks more desperate and futile with this perspective.

“He’s going --” Spirit starts, and then Giriko turns his head to meet Justin’s lips and his hand closes on the back of the priest’s neck in an attempt to reclaim control. Stein laughs, a hint of delight under the sound, and when he moves his lips brush over Spirit’s ear.

“You’ve got it.”

Spirit shudders at the contact, and either the sound or the movement pulls Giriko’s attention back away from Justin. The chainsaw pulls away to glare at them and Justin looks at them too, although he doesn’t move back from the angle of his lips on Giriko’s jawline.

“You two having fun watching us?” Giriko hisses, and Spirit  _is_  enjoying himself, it’s pointless to deny it and he doesn’t want to try. But before he has a chance to react Stein is moving around him, judging his position perfectly so he misses contact with Spirit’s arm by an inch or less as he pulls his hand away and strides across to join the other two.

“That’s just the top layer,” he continues, still in that lecturing tone. “They both react very differently to someone else.” He touches the back of Justin’s neck and Spirit has a prickle of jealousy rush over his lonely skin. Justin smiles and doesn’t pull away from Giriko’s neck, and the chainsaw’s ire fades off a bit at this display of preference.

“Come over,” Stein says, but Spirit is moving in already, drawn by the promise of contact and heat even before the meister opens his mouth. He’s watching, this time, and when Stein moves his hand and the scythe reaches out instead he sees Justin arch back into the touch a little more, sees Giriko scowl even with the blond’s lips at the corner of his mouth. When he reaches for Giriko with his other hand the chainsaw catches his wrist, twists it down at an angle that makes Spirit hiss in pain, and his eyes go bright with vicious satisfaction that Spirit doesn’t need Stein to point out.

“Oh,” he says, and he drops his hold on Justin’s neck to come forward around the priest’s body and reach for Giriko’s face. The blond wiggles sideways to make room for Spirit next to him, and when the scythe kisses the chainsaw’s mouth he is expecting the teeth even before they come. Giriko kisses like he’s fighting, or at least he kisses Spirit that way, teeth and tongue and force, and he’s still pulling at the redhead’s wrist and doesn’t stop, even when Justin laughs low and pulls back from the chainsaw’s skin to slide out from between Spirit and the couch. Giriko’s pointed teeth hurt more than they should and draw blood before Spirit can retreat from the aggression in them, but when Spirit whimpers Giriko groans, and the scythe doesn’t need to look to know that when he reaches for the chainsaw’s pants the other weapon will be hard under his hand.

Justin and Stein are nearly silent behind them, so quiet that Spirit has no idea what’s happening until he pulls free of Giriko’s mouth and glances back in the moment while he gets the front of the chainsaw’s pants open. Stein’s fingers are curling around Justin’s hip, just under the edge of the blond’s shirt, and the priest is relaxed back against the couch and smiling faintly, eyes out of focus on the ceiling. Stein is gazing at Justin intently but he’s focused on the wrong point, not the blond’s mouth or eyes or face at all but the pull of collarbones under the thin fabric of his shirt, and Spirit has no idea what Stein could possibly be reading from that but whatever it is appears to have the meister’s full attention.

No sooner does he think this than Stein looks at him, like Spirit’s gaze has pulled his focus physically. The meister’s eyes flicker soft for a moment, and then Giriko growls, “You gonna just  _stare_ , pretty boy?” and Spirit turns back to the other weapon.

Giriko’s eyes are angry but his mouth is half-open like he’s struggling to breathe, and when Spirit wraps his fingers around the chainsaw’s newly-freed cock he sighs, the gentlest sound the scythe has ever heard from him, and rocks up into the touch.

“Fuck,” Giriko says, and Spirit comes down to trail his tongue over the chainsaw’s length before he finishes speaking so the sentence gets broken in the middle. “I guess you’re good for some --” He gasps, chokes a laugh, and tangles his hand painfully in Spirit’s hair. “Things.”

Spirit still can’t decide if he likes this from Giriko. There are pieces of the chainsaw’s actions that remind him of Stein, enough to offer the promise of familiarity, but then there’s the edge of pain blatant over everything, a little too much pulling or pushing or demanding, and it shifts from exciting to frightening so fast Spirit still can’t make up his mind.

Justin laughs behind them, breathy and weighted with pleasure, and Giriko’s hold goes slack on Spirit’s hair so the scythe can close his mouth around the head of the chainsaw’s cock without worrying about Giriko pushing his head down too fast. Giriko grunts, sounding almost like he’s in pain, and Justin makes a sound back over Spirit’s shoulder that might be due to Stein and might be due to Spirit; it’s impossible to tell, and Spirit needs to focus his attention on the task at hand. Giriko is frustratingly large, though he’ll never admit that aloud to the chainsaw; it’s hard to take the other man’s cock into his mouth, even with his fingers wrapped around the base to keep his own gag reflex in check. Still, the contact is enough to get a groan of satisfaction from the chainsaw, and for a brief moment, with Giriko’s fingers gentle in his hair, Spirit sees how this must play out with Justin, the game of control switching from one to the other as fast as Giriko regains composure and Justin shatters it again.

Stein might be able to multi-task like this. Justin apparently has some knack for it. Spirit does not. He drops the multiple levels of distracting contemplation, shuts his eyes, and lets experience and Giriko’s half-vocalized reactions guide the movement of his mouth and tongue and hand. The chainsaw’s hand stays relatively gentle, only occasionally forming into a painful fist in Spirit’s hair, and as the scythe continues his slow exploration he can feel the tension seep out of Giriko’s body until he’s nearly as relaxed as Justin looked when they first came in.

Spirit is lost in the careful pattern of breathing and movement and adjusting himself to Giriko’s own motion when Stein’s hand brushes against the fingers he has clasped around the chainsaw’s length. Spirit pulls back, takes a breath, and Stein’s other hand comes up to gently push him back and away. Stein is watching him, mouth quirked in his personal-amusement smile again, and Giriko barely has time to blink his eyes into focus and open his mouth to protest before the meister sets his fingers in place and pulls, careful and calculated and effective, and the chainsaw moans and drops back, the last remnant of stress from Spirit’s touch evaporating under Stein’s hands.

When Spirit turns away, Justin is watching him. As their eyes meet the blond raises an eyebrow expectantly and a corner of his mouth with amusement. It takes Spirit a moment to get his bearings -- Justin’s lips are red and moist from kissing, his jeans are undone but not off, he’s got one hand up lingering against the line of his neck and throat -- and while he’s still processing Justin reaches out to grab the front of his shirt and pull him bodily in against him.

The priest is a  _lot_  stronger than he looks, and Spirit is startled by the tug, so their mouths come together with more force than the scythe intends. Spirit flinches at the crush but Justin purrs and opens his mouth, slides his tongue past Spirit’s lips before the redhead can catch up. He’s still working on responding properly when Justin whines in the back of his throat and pulls away.

“You  _taste_  like him,” Justin says.

Spirit laughs before he can recall the sound, and Justin grins and pulls him back in and this time he’s ready, fits his mouth against the priest’s and tips his head as he ought. There’s a sound from Giriko that cuts off abruptly, and then Justin snakes his hand down the front of Spirit’s slacks and the scythe stops paying any attention to anything over his shoulder. The friction is satisfying in and of itself, and there’s not much room for technique with clothing in the way, but Justin arches up against Spirit like he’s desperate for contact and his breathing is coming as fast as if  _he’s_  being touched instead of the scythe. When Spirit reaches for him tentatively the priest moans encouragement, and between Spirit pulling at his pants and Justin wiggling inventively they get the blond free of the clothes without ever quite breaking away.

Justin is quick to return the favor, opening Spirit’s pants in record time, and when Giriko starts to make a sound of protest from behind them it is rapidly muffled by what sounds like a hand closing over his mouth. This is followed by a hiss of pain from Stein, but Giriko’s words remain inaudibly garbled nonetheless. Justin tugs Spirit’s pants free, arches up and around in a way that shouldn’t be possible even for a Death Weapon, and when Spirit falls back to the couch Justin is straddling him and grinning bright. Spirit looks over his shoulder, just briefly; Stein’s got his hand clamped over Giriko’s mouth, and the chainsaw is glaring at the back of Justin’s blond head, but the meister’s other hand is stroking along the chainsaw’s length and Spirit can see Giriko tremble with the sensation every time Stein moves.

Spirit’s reaching out to mirror Stein’s movements before he realizes what he is doing, closing his fingers around Justin’s cock through the thin material of his boxers before Justin has caught his balance enough to initiate on his own. Justin gasps sharply; when Spirit looks up he’s angled back and away, head dropped straight back so the scythe can see the sound pull up his throat when he moans. It’s only for a moment before the blond sucks in air and straightens to reach for Spirit himself, but in the absence of contact Stein’s words from before focus Spirit’s attention and he sees the way Giriko’s eyes trace the curve of Justin’s spine, the way the chainsaw jerks at the sound from Justin’s throat, the way the other weapon is responding to Justin’s reaction almost more than to his own experience.

The touch of Justin’s fingers against him pulls Spirit’s attention back, and when he refocuses on the priest’s face the blond is smiling like he knows what Spirit was thinking. Spirit’s used to seeing Stein’s mad violence in the edges of Giriko’s teeth; he’s not used to connecting  _Justin_  to his meister, and the resemblance is startling and at least as much of an influence on his laugh of a reaction as the actual contact. Justin’s hands are definitely not Stein’s, though, and whatever skill is sacrificed in the trade is made up for by the novelty of his smaller fingers and the strength of his grip; that, at least, he and Giriko have in common, the flirtation with the edge of pain in the midst of pleasure. It’s confusing here as it was before, but the sparks of disorientation when Justin’s grip goes a little too tight feel more like delight than the almost-fright with Giriko, and when Justin leans in to sigh deliberately in response to the movement of Spirit’s hand over him it draws a laugh from the redhead.

From his position Spirit can watch any one of the other three: Justin’s half-smile and the brush of yellow eyelashes over his cheek when he blinks, or the arrhythmic shift of Giriko’s hips up against Stein’s hand, but he ends up watching Stein’s shoulders even though there’s less to see there than anything else, just the fabric of his shirt and the hint of muscle under the cloth as he moves. He’s still fully dressed, Spirit realizes, he’s only been touching other people and getting no reciprocation himself, and Giriko has one hand locked around the wrist of the hand covering his mouth in an attempt to push free and the other clinging to Stein’s hip and is in no position to properly return the favor of sensation.

Justin’s watching Spirit when the scythe looks back at him. The shape of his smile is different, now, less teasing and more gentle, and when he catches Spirit’s gaze his hand slows to a stop. Spirit hesitates as well, suddenly uncertain about what’s going on, and Justin leans in to brush his lips very gently against his cheekbone.

“Thanks,” the blond murmurs, the word soft with sincerity, and then he twists away before Spirit can think to or try to stop him, reaches out to grab Stein’s shoulder. The meister is turning a moment before Justin even reaches for him, like he is anticipating the movement, and he lets Giriko go instantly, before Justin has a chance to say anything.

“He’s all yours,” Stein offers, and Justin reaches out to sink his fingers into Stein’s hair and carefully, properly kiss him. Justin is cast in shades of gold that make Stein look moon-silver in comparison, but they move similarly with each other, gentle and slow and precise. Spirit’s breath catches in his throat, and Giriko reaches for Justin, and the blond pulls back and turns away from Spirit as Stein blinks and smiles and turns towards him.

“Senpai,” he says, and Spirit is watching the curve of his mouth and feels inexplicably, bizarrely relieved at the familiarity in the shape.

“Stein,” he says, and they’re together somewhere in the space between them, and Spirit doesn’t have to think about this or analyze it at all, there’s just Stein’s hands in his hair like they always are and the movement of lips under his, and when Stein catches Spirit’s lower lip in his teeth the scythe doesn’t flinch from the potential for pain because he knows how hard Stein will bite, knows it won’t be enough to hurt. There’s red against the meister’s palm -- when Spirit turns to look at it there’s an imprint of teeth in the skin, a trace of blood smeared from the puncture marks.

“He  _bit_  you?” Spirit is almost laughing, more amused than horrified, and Stein smiles in mirrored response.

“I did put my hand over his mouth.”

“Oh my god,” Spirit mutters, bringing his mouth in to kiss the injury. “You’re both totally insane.”

“Mm.” Stein purrs at the contact and slides his hand down against Spirit’s jaw to curl against the weapon’s neck. Spirit hooks his fingers around the top edge of Stein’s dark jeans, and the meister reaches down to help so between their two hands they get the meister’s fly open nearly as fast as Spirit could have managed on his own with both hands.

Justin is whimpering over Stein’s shoulder, taking odd choking inhales like he can’t quite breathe, and when Spirit glances over Giriko has the blond balanced on the back of the couch while he licks along the priest’s length. Whatever reserve of control Justin has had is gone now, shattered apart so it’s impossible to tell it was ever there; his hands are clenched into fists in Giriko’s hair and his mouth is open like he can’t remember how to close it. Giriko is grinning as he watches Justin’s face twist into painfully intense pleasure, as delighted by the priest’s loss of restraint as anything else, and Stein laughs against Spirit’s hair.

“You see?” he murmurs. Spirit’s hand slides along Stein’s stomach, down to brush gentle over his cock, and the meister takes a breath only barely hard enough to sound like a gasp against the scythe’s hair.

“Yes,” Spirit says, and Stein is reaching for him too so he loses his balance and they fall back against the edge of the couch, sprawled across the floor and tangled together until Spirit’s not sure whose hands are where. Justin is panting and whimpering detached syllables, and Giriko is laughing and telling Justin to  _hold still or you’ll fall, you idiot_. Stein is sighing and smiling slow and pleased, and when Spirit slides his hand against the meister’s cock he responds so perfectly in time that it feels almost like the scythe is controlling both their hands at once. Spirit catches Stein’s mouth with his and can feel the younger man smile, and when they break apart the separation is so minimal he’s almost not sure their lips aren’t still touching on sudden inhales or shocked sighs.

Justin gasps for air and wails, sounding more like he’s in pain than coming, but Giriko’s laugh is as genuine as Spirit has ever heard it, and he’s distracted himself by the satisfaction washing his own body into languid pleasure. Stein is breathing shallowly, leaning in against his mouth like he’s taking air from Spirit’s lungs directly rather than bothering with the complication of the atmosphere, and it’s only the perfect rhythm of their matched movements that keeps Spirit moving instead of going irregular with proximity to orgasm.

Stein’s fingers wrap against Spirit’s neck, and the meister comes in ever closer, takes a deep breath against the scythe’s mouth, and when he breaks the pattern with a sharp stroke out of time and the press of thumb over sensitive skin Spirit chokes a laugh and comes without any warning beyond the rush of heat under his skin. Stein’s mouth forms into a deliberate kiss to catch the choked half-noises that break from Spirit’s throat, and he keeps stroking his hand along the weapon’s length as the last waves of pleasure pour out into the farthest reaches of Spirit’s blood.

Stein lets go just as the sensation is about to tip over to painful, replaces his fingers against the less sensitive skin of Spirit’s hip, and sighs in satisfaction even as he relaxes into Spirit’s touch against him. There’s the murmur of words from behind them, and what Spirit can catch of Giriko’s words is unintelligible, in some foreign language he’s never heard, but Stein is smiling and his eyes are shut behind the cover of his glasses, and he looks perfectly and utterly content. With the peace spilling across his face Spirit’s not even surprised when the meister takes a deeper breath, rocks up into the scythe’s touch, and comes against him.

They’re both still for a minute while Spirit’s breathing slows to a normal pace and Stein slides his fingers up against the weapon’s back, tracing out unintelligible patterns on skin with his eyes shut like he’s seeing with sensation instead of sight. Giriko is still speaking, the words more clear now that Spirit isn’t distracted but no more understandable.

“Czech.”

Stein hasn’t opened his eyes, and when he speaks the word is barely audible. Spirit raises his eyebrows, and even though the meister isn’t watching him Stein smiles faintly as if in response.

“He’s speaking Czech.”

“What’s he saying?” Spirit asks curiously.

Stein jerks his head in a faint negative, and for a moment Spirit thinks it’s just that the meister doesn’t speak Czech beyond recognition. “It’s not for you to hear.”

“What?” Spirit looks back over at the other two. Justin’s holding Giriko’s hips, shifting his head over the other weapon’s length, and Giriko is looking at the blond, hands against the priest’s hair and face so  _soft_  that Spirit looks away immediately, sure that the other man’s expression wasn’t for him to see either. “Does Justin --”

Stein is shaking his head already. “No.”

Spirit wants to ask for more, but then Giriko groans and falls back onto the couch as the tension in him spasms into pleasure. Justin laughs with his mouth full, and by the time the priest lifts his head the chainsaw’s face is devoid of any unusual tenderness at all.

It makes Spirit sad, for a moment, that he caught a glimpse of this directed affection that Justin didn’t get to see. But then the blond lifts his head, and swallows ostentatiously, and flashes Giriko a smile so bright that the scythe wonders if he didn’t  _need_  to see it at all.

When he looks back, Stein is watching him instead of the other two, and his eyes are as soft as Giriko’s in that moment before Justin looked up.

“See?” he asks.

Spirit does.


End file.
